


Close Encounters of the Boosh Kind

by blackmountainbones, BobSkeleton



Series: Alien Baby [1]
Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Alien Abduction, Alien Impregnation, Alien probing, Aliens, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Baby Shower, Belly worship, Blowjobs, Bob Fossil is a real creep in this one, Breeding Kink, Comeplay, Cum Eating, Don't Try This At Home, Drugs, Exorcism, Fluff, Frotting, Full penetration, Ghouls, Howard Moon hedge witch, Howard Moon thinks he’s a virgin, Howard deals with his pregnancy like a man, Howard has a virginity crisis, Howard has no idea what sex is, Kissing, Leroy is a good buddy, Libraries, Loads of pining, M/M, Masturbation, Mpreg, Mutual Wanking, Naboo catches feelings for about 3 seconds and all of them are terrible, Naboo putting the marijuana in medical marijuana, Naboo talks to his roommates about their sex life, Other, Pining, Praise Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Premature Ejaculation, Saboo & Harrison Quality Solicitors, Sexy foot massages, Shaman Council, Shaman charity cases, Shaman-prescribed sexathon, THEM SLAGS, Tony Harrison is neither a doctor nor a lawyer but don't tell him that, UFOs, UST, Uranians are terrible, Uranus - Freeform, Uranus-Earth Breeding Program, Vince always comes first because he CAN’T EVEN with pregnant sexy Howard, Vince gets off on Howard's hot pregnancy bod, Vince has a popularity crisis to match the 31 chapter crisis Howard has, Vince is a good human, abuse of a papoose, abuse of stationary (everything can be drugs if you try hard enough), alien buttplug, alien noncon, aliens from Uranus are the worst, and by 31 chapter crisis we mean this entire fic, comedic exorcism, dicks are hard but feelings are harder, don't worry Vince sets him straight, drunk baby shower shenanigans, especially his hot pregnancy tits, galactic baby shower, gardening is a metaphor, guess what it’s a metaphor for? (it’s obvious), happy endings, heteronormative gender roles are so passe, he’s wrong, intergalactic sex law, is it an author self-insert or isn’t it, judge judy - Freeform, knocker stuff, lawyerings, major sulking, man tits, matching couples outfits, men in labor, non-medically accurate childbirth, sadness showers, scalp massage kink exists, scrapbook night, seriously there’s gonna be a lot of fluffy bits so get ready to rot your teeth, sexy back massages, shaman behaving badly, shamelessly inspired by the Sims, tags to be added as we go, this fic is literally out of this world, tw: needles, we wave a magic wand at men delivering babies, where the wild things are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2020-06-22 06:31:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 112,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19661752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmountainbones/pseuds/blackmountainbones, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobSkeleton/pseuds/BobSkeleton
Summary: In the aftermath of being kidnapped and impregnated by an alien race, Howard must navigate the trials and tribulations of being a single father. Luckily, he has Vince and the Shaman Council by his side.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> After writing Shaman Camp, BobSkeleton and I celebrated our creative union and love of high-quality crackfic by wedding each other in holy crackimony. It wasn’t long before we got pregnant--with an alien baby, no less!
> 
> Inspired by the times and trials of [alchemistsophie’s](alchemistsophie.tumblr.com) [Boosh Sims](https://the-stoned-ranger.tumblr.com/post/186039805464/in-case-you-were-wondering-what-inspired). TL;DR: Howard gets abducted by aliens, and comes home with a souvenir of the experience: an alien baby of his very own! In the aftermath of his abduction, Howard must come to terms with life as a single father. Luckily, he has Vince and the Shaman Council to help him out. 
> 
> Thanks to our crack team of betas: [LittleBooshMaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid/pseuds/A_Little_Boosh_Maid), [Radiumkind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiumkind/pseuds/Radiumkind), and [Concupiscence66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/concupiscence66/pseuds/concupiscence66) for their assistance and input. 
> 
> Tags will change as we post new chapters, so please keep an eye out!

“What do you think of this one?” Vince twirled and pranced, the flowing sequined monstrosity he was modeling for tonight’s party billowing around his slight frame.

Howard groaned. “It’s fine! All the others were fine. This one is fine too!” He was quickly losing patience with Vince’s endless fashion show, as well as the entire concept of the party Vince and Naboo were throwing tonight.

Parties never ended well for Howard Moon, especially parties that took place in his apartment. He was a solitary creature by nature, and could only stand so much forced and shallow human interaction before he was forced to retreat. When the party was taking place in his own home, there was no safe place to hide from the drunken revelry. Even the bedroom he shared with Vince wasn’t safe from partygoers in search of a semi-private place to get off with each other. 

Vince pouted and stomped his foot, looking like a toddler about to go into a strop. “You’re supposed to be helping me pick my outfit!” 

With a sigh, Howard said, “I told you that you look _fine_.”

“ _Fine_ isn’t good enough!” Vince whined. “Naboo said this party is going to be the coolest party in the entire multiverse, so my outfit for tonight needs to be the coolest in the galaxy!” He blinked rapidly, his blue eyes looking suspiciously bright as if he were fighting back tears.

“Why are you asking my opinion anyway?” Howard griped, trying to ignore Vince’s almost-tears and the annoying impulse he had to soothe them away. Vince was the one being a berk... so why did Howard feel like it was his duty to make Vince feel better? “You’re constantly mocking my fashion sense, saying I look like a tramp or an unemployed geography teacher who lost his job for being improper with the students.” 

Perhaps his words were unnecessarily cruel, but that was how he and Vince were with each other these days. They’d always bickered like an old married couple (as their shaman flatmate Naboo and his gorilla familiar Bollo were constantly reminding them), but things had gotten worse in the past year. Ever since Howard’s horrible failed surprise party last year, the party where Howard had admitted the secret shame of his enduring virginity. The party where Vince had stolen his first kiss only to avoid being decapitated by the enraged head shaman, Dennis, for trying to get off with his wife, the extreme sports calendar model, in a cupboard. The kiss after which Vince had mocked him for announcing his conversion to gaydom from the rooftops and insisted Howard needed to stop falling in love with every person who treated him with the smallest speck of kindness. The kiss which had, ultimately, changed everything. 

“You do, you know,” Vince said, equally cruelly. “You could let me tailor your trousers or trim your moustache or put some product in your hair. You might actually look less like a rapist tramp if you made an effort--”

“Enough!” shouted Howard. “Keep your hands off of my moustache! You can choose your own damned outfit. I don’t _care_ what you wear. You always look like a glam-rock prostitute, anyway.” He was sick of Vince constantly mocking his appearance. Howard Moon was a man of substance; he was too busy cultivating his mind to care about cultivating his hair, while Vince was like a beach ball, all surface. 

He slammed the door behind him, ignoring Vince, who stood in amongst the piles of discarded clothing, chin trembling. This was _Vince’s_ party, Howard reminded himself; let _him_ figure out what to wear. It wasn’t Howard’s problem--neither, Howard considered, was Vince’s tantrum. They were the same age, even if Vince conveniently subtracted a few years off his own; it was time for Vince to start acting like it. 

At some point in the evening, amid the thumping bass and drinks spiked with who-knows-what, someone suggested a game of “7 Minutes in Heaven,” played in the shop with the Gary Numan cabinet. Howard looked up nervously from the conversation he’d been having with a lovely blonde girl about the history of bookmarks. This scene was all too similar to the one from last year, from his disastrous birthday party. He scanned the crowd for Vince, who met his eyes from across the room. Having mastered nonverbal communication between the pair of them, Vince tilted his head in a half-shrug and gave Howard a kind-eyed look that said, “You don’t have to.” Howard turned back to the petite blonde at his side. 

“Not much for games, really,” he mumbled, hoping she’d agree and they could continue this conversation elsewhere, away from awkward party games that involve far too much physical contact. 

“Aw, come on, then!” she squealed. Howard felt his heart drop as he realized that this was the exact _opposite_ reaction to what he wanted. The girl latched onto his arm, grabbed his hand, and dragged him to the circle of people. He noticed the kindness in Vince’s eyes had been hardened to something else. Anger? Resentment? Embarrassment? He wasn’t sure.

“Go on then!” the blonde said to Howard. “You go first. Who’re you gonna pick?” She batted her eyelashes at him, and instead of having the desired effect, the act reminded Howard of Saturday morning cartoon characters who tried to seduce their love interests. He half expected little animated hearts to come floating off her head. He looked at Vince, who stood looking at him, eyes dark. 

“Erm, well… if you, uh, insist, I’ll… would you--?”

Howard’s proposal to the blonde girl to proceed to the cabinet was cut short by an audible scoff from Vince. 

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Vince said, arms folded across his chest. 

“Why not?” asked the girl. Vince rolled his eyes before continuing. 

“Oh, you know. He’s _Howard Moon._ When he crosses the physical boundary, it’s _forever.”_ He shot a look of enmity at Howard as he spat this last remark. “Wouldn’t go in there with him unless you want to marry him.”

“What do you mean?” the girl asked, unwinding herself from Howard. Howard tried desperately to stop what he knew was coming next.

“Vince, that’s--” 

“He’s a virgin who will only get physical with the person he wants to be with for the rest of his life, or didn’t he tell you?” Vince spat, surprising Howard with his vitriol. Where had this come from? Did this have to do with their kiss at the birthday party last year? They’d both agreed to ignore that whole embarrassment, hadn’t they?

“That’s enough, sir,” Howard said, his voice low and dangerous as he took a step towards Vince. He was knocked out of his anger by the stifled giggle at his side. He turned, appalled to see the blonde girl’s hand in front of her mouth, covering her laughter. 

How...? How in the _world_ had this happened _twice_ in as many years? 

Before long the whole room was in stitches, laughing at poor, virginal Howard. Blood heating his ears, Howard turned to look at Vince, and noticed all the anger and jealousy gone from the electro poof’s eyes. In its place was the all too familiar expression of guilt, and, upon closer inspection, a thin sheen of tears. Too angry to feel sorry about Vince’s guilt, too embarrassed to be in this room with all these _stupid_ people, too hurt to stand being in his own skin, Howard turned and left the room, stomping up the stairs and not stopping until he reached the rooftop. 

He slammed the door behind him, the cool night air easing the fire in his blood. He breathed deeply and sat, alone with his thoughts. 

Howard stared out into the night. The sky looked the way he felt: dark, foggy, and devoid of stars.

He sighed. Whenever Vince or Naboo threw a party, he always seemed to end up here, alone on the roof with only his shame for company.

So what if he was a virgin? He’d meant what he’d told Vince, last year during the horrible birthday party Vince had thrown for him: when he finally crossed over the physical boundary (for real, not under the threat of decapitation by an irate shaman), it would be for good.

Maybe he was just old-fashioned. Howard had always felt like he’d been born in the wrong decade--maybe he’d have been more at home in the 1950s, the era before birth control and promiscuity became the norm. But then again, maybe not. Maybe even back then, he’d’ve been a social outcast, a loser, a prude.

“Ehh, Earth... Earth-Man!” a voice crooned from the sky. 

Howard looked up. Through the haze of London fog he made out the faint and frankly terrifying face of the Man in the Moon. 

“Earth-Man! You better go inside. They’re, er, coming. Coming to the Earth. For a look around. Go inside your little house-box, before they see you, Earth-Man. Go inside, to your ugly girlfriend and, uh, your little... little bed for sleep times.” 

“I can’t go back there,” Howard sighed. The moon was a blathering idiot; nothing he said ever made any sense. Still, he considered, it was better than facing the party, and all the people who’d laughed at him for being such a virgin and a prude. “I’ve been shamed. Shamed, I tell you!”

“Sometimes, when you are the moon, you are the crescent moon. Not the full moon, the Main Moon, but a little sliver of moon. That moon’s a bit shit, but uh, it’s all the moon! No need for shame, for feeling bad, when you are the moon.” The Moon grinned at Howard. “Go inside, Earth-Man!” 

“Well, that’s great. When you’re the Moon. But in case you didn’t notice, I’m human, and I always feel awful and ashamed.”

“People, they are never listening to the Moon. It’s their fault. Should have gone inside. Hey, Jupiter! He should have gone inside!” With that, the moon turned his face away, leaving Howard in the cloudy light, alone and quiet on the rooftop. 

Sighing again, Howard stared out at the sky, resolutely ignoring the chatter and clamor of all the revelling partygoers in the streets below. It was a Saturday night in London town, and it seemed like everyone in the whole city was out with their mates, getting drunk, having fun, _getting off_. Their existence was alien to a man like Howard, a pathetic 33-year-old virgin who sat on the peaked roof of the little townhouse, silently staring at nothing, all by himself without even the moon for company.

The sound of his self-pitying contemplation was punctuated with a low, thrumming pulse. He assumed it was from the raucous music playing in the flat, or elsewhere in the city, but it seemed to grow louder, the steady hum getting closer and closer. Howard tried to ignore it and resume his martyrdom, but when the roof tiles started vibrating beneath him with the reverberations of the sound, he could ignore it no longer. 

Before Howard realized what was happening, the sky turned white. Blindly, he teetered, grabbing at the tile in panic, but it was no use--Howard was airborne. He screamed and closed his eyes, certain that he would fall to his death at the age of 33, before he’d even begun to peak (or lose his virginity, for that matter), but when several seconds passed and he was still airborne, Howard noticed something strange... he wasn’t falling _down._ In fact, he seemed to be falling _up_.

Howard screamed again, then passed out in midair. Just before he lost consciousness, he caught a glimpse of a massive silver spaceship, hovering directly above him. Then the world went black, and Howard knew no more.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is either the chapter where we gain a bunch of kudos and followers... or lose them all, depending on how depraved the Boosh fandom is. Be warned: Howard gets abducted by the aliens. Graphically. Check out the end notes for more details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything we know about aliens comes from Invader Zim and the brilliant SNL sketch with Kate McKinnon, [Close Encounter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PfPdYYsEfAE)!
> 
> Thanks to our betas LittleBooshMaid and Radiumkind, but especially Concupiscence66 for her insight in helping us make Howard just a little less pathetic in this chapter.

When Howard regained consciousness, he was lying on a cot in a room that was all sterile gleaming surfaces. A metallic scent was in the air, completely unlike anything he’d ever smelled before, and Howard jerked upright.

His head swam and his stomach churned with panic. Where the hell was he? A quick reconnaissance of his surroundings revealed neither windows nor doors nor another living being.

Howard opened his mouth to scream, then shut it quickly. What was the use? No one was around to hear him. No, he would accept his fate with dignity, and die of starvation and dehydration alone and ignored in this room. It was better, he reflected, than dying alone and ignored of old age and depression and shame, which was surely the end he would have met had he not been abducted from his rooftop perch and the horrible party in the flat.

A pneumatic wheeze alerted Howard to the fact that a door had appeared in one of the gleaming, seamless walls. He turned his head in the direction of the sound, only to see a being unlike any other he’d previously encountered.

Any other man would have been terrified, but Howard knew that for all his many faults, he had at least lived an unusual life. He’d encountered all manner of unusual beings--a man with cheese for a head, cab-driving Grim Reapers, and all manner of alien life forms--but he’d only ever seen creatures like  _ this _ on the late-night science fiction B movies that Naboo hate-watched when he was too stoned to change the channel on the telly.

A small being, even smaller than Naboo, approached him through the entry that had appeared in the wall. The being’s skin was grayish-green in color, not unlike the elephants at the Zooniverse, only smooth and with a faint luminescent sheen. Howard had to pinch himself to be sure he wasn’t dreaming. The creature had the classic, bug-eyed alien facial features that could be found on t-shirts and stuffed toys throughout London. 

On silent feet, it trod closer and closer to the cot where Howard lay. He could feel nervousness twisting inside his belly, like a cup of cold water he’d downed too fast that had suddenly become sentient and wound itself around inside him. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Still, the small creature came closer and closer, no change in its expression, until it finally loomed over him, cocking its head in confused examination. 

“P-please,” Howard croaked. “Don’t kill me. I’ve got so much to give.”

“Calm yourself, earth-man,” the creature said. “We come in peace.” Its mouth did not move as it spoke, and its voice was strangely disembodied, as if it were speaking directly into Howard’s head, just like in the old sci-fi B movies.

“C-calm?” Howard said. For some reason, being told to stay calm made his panic even worse.

Though the alien’s expression did not change, Howard had the distinct impression that it was rolling its large black eyes at him. “You’re more use to us alive than dead. You see, this is a kidnapping. We’re holding you for ransom.”

“K-kidnapping? Ransom?”

“Yes. We are aliens from the planet Uranus. We wanted to go to the party tonight, but the smelly ape-man working the door wouldn’t let us in. Also, he kept laughing when we told him what planet we were from. It was an outrage!”

Howard groaned and wondered if Tony Harrison had ever spent time on Uranus, and if  _ that _ was where he’d picked up his horrifically overused catchphrase.

“So,” the alien continued in its alarmingly disembodied monotone, “we’re holding you hostage until Naboo invites us to the party.”

“No, no no no,” Howard protested, tasting the panic rising up his throat. “You’ve gone wrong! No one is going to let you in to the party, because everyone at that party hates me and they don’t care if I live or die! They’re probably all having way more fun now that I’m gone.”

The alien made a noise, something between a sigh and a grunt, and the wall opened again to reveal a small parade of the alien creatures who came into the room and surrounded the cot. Howard began panicking in earnest when dozens of shiny black eyes were boring down on him against the stark white lights in the domed room. 

Again, the genderless, accentless voice appeared in his head, saying, “We have discussed the matter, Howard Moon. Our research indicates you are correct. We have taken the wrong hostage.” Howard wondered if they meant Vince, but immediately corrected himself by rationalizing that a race capable of traveling from Uranus to Earth would certainly be able to tell the difference between he, Howard Moon, jazz maverick, and Vince Noir, rock 'n roll star. “However, we will not waste this opportunity now that we have you here.” 

Before he could ask exactly  _ what  _ opportunity they meant, Howard felt one of the aliens press its abnormally long, cold fingers across his brow, temple to temple, and an overwhelming sense of lassitude overtook him. The lights and the dozens of faces staring down at him blurred together and once again, Howard succumbed to the darkness. 

This time, when Howard came to, he was completely naked, lying on a bed in a room that was much less sterile than the first. The lights were dimmed, flickering as if the room was lit by candlelight, the walls were draped with soft fabrics instead of glaring silver. If Howard didn’t know better, he would have thought that he was in some decadent boudoir instead of on an alien spacecraft, awaiting some as-yet-unknown but surely terrible fate. 

As his eyes adjusted to the light, he noticed that there were several aliens in the shadows. All of them were staring at Howard with their big, dark, expressionless eyes. 

While their expressions were blank and motionless, Howard began to feel unsettled. Howard considered himself a connoisseur of uncomfortable feelings. He could taste the subtle difference between existential nihilism and existential ennui, standard anxiety and abstruse anxiety. He’d felt this kind of thing before--usually when he was being coerced into marriage by a lovesick merman with a downstairs mix-up or being stalked by Eleanor, who was desperate for Howard to run away to Mexico and be her cabana boy.

Suddenly, one of the aliens moved forward into the flickering light. It was taller than the other aliens, towering with a height of seven or eight feet, and wearing a long and gaudy purple robe. “Are you comfortable?” it asked in the same strangely echoing voice as the alien from earlier.

It was joined by another alien exactly the same height, clad in a robe that was identical in every way to its own, except for the color, which was red. “We want you to be comfortable, Howard.”

Howard wanted to ask the alien how it knew his name, but he was distracted by a pressure in his bladder. “I could have a wee,” he admitted.

The aliens looked at each other and nodded. “By all means,” the purple one said.

Another furtive glance around the room did not reveal anything that even vaguely resembled a loo. Though the aliens had mastered the science of space travel, it seemed that they had yet to develop the technology commonly known as the “toilet”. The aliens stared at him, their black eyes intent in their observation, as Howard, unwilling to be cowed by the many pairs of black eyes fixated on him, began urinating on himself. The piss was hot against his cold skin, making Howard shiver.

The tall purple-clad alien gestured towards the corner of the room. Howard kept pissing on himself, and finally, with a sigh, the alien in the red robe reached over to hand him a large silver bowl that resembled a kind of futuristic chamber pot.

Flushing, Howard accepted the chamber pot, and aimed his stream of piss into the receptacle. The sound of his urine hitting the bowl echoed in the silent room, and the mass of alien beings leered forward as if to get a better look at what Howard was doing.

Howard blushed harder, wishing he could stop the stream of piss, but it had been hours since he’d last gone, and he didn’t know when--or if--the aliens would give him another chance to relieve himself. Finally, the piss slowed to a trickle, and Howard shook himself off as the aliens leered. They seemed to be particularly intrigued by his penis, though Howard could not imagine why. It was a normal human penis, perhaps a bit on the grotesquely large side, but otherwise perfectly average with no obvious deformities.

The tall alien in the red robe snapped his fingers, and another alien, which appeared to be even shorter than average for the particularly height-challenged alien race, appeared to remove the chamber pot, grumbling to itself all the while that it didn’t see  _ why _ it had to do all the dirty work just because it was the shortest.

Howard felt awkward just standing in the middle of the room with no clothes on, so he sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress yielded softly to his weight, and he stared at the aliens, who stared back.

Suddenly, the tall alien in the purple robe reached out, its long fingered-hand caressing Howard’s chest. Instinctively, Howard flinched. “Don’t touch me!” he shouted, desperate to assert himself to the alien being towering over him.

“Do not fear us,” it spoke directly into his head, “we mean you no harm. We want to know more about you.”

“Well,” Howard began, “I am Howard Moon, colon, explorer. Man of action, jazz musician, poet, cyclist, and spanner of the genres--”

Undaunted and unimpressed, the alien continued caressing Howard’s tit, gently cupping at the soft flesh, watching as it bounced in his palm. 

Another disembodied voice hissed in Howard’s mind. “This is completely against regulation.” From the way the red-robed alien was cocking its head at the purple-robed one, Howard was sure that it was talking.

“Shhh,” the purple-clad alien shushed. “Just try it, yeah?”

Frozen in fearful anticipation, Howard did not flinch when the red-robed alien’s spindly fingers closed around his tit and squeezed. Howard yelped, and the alien eased its grip, for which Howard was thankful. It was bad enough to get groped by an alien, but at least the alien was being gentle now.

“You are right,” the alien murmured, bouncing Howard’s tit. He seemed mesmerized at the way the flesh rippled at its touch, and he jiggled it softly, staring all the while. 

“Are you done?” Howard asked. This whole situation was well weird, and to make matters worse, his tits were rather... sensitive. His penis was beginning to take an interest in the whole situation, and he willed himself to think un-sexy thoughts, like Tony Harrison and his barbed penis, or Tony Harrison and doing something to someone with said penis. Mostly Tony Harrison. 

The aliens kept jiggling his tits, and Howard resolved to Jazzercise his succulent man boobs out of existence every morning and maybe even every night when he got back to Earth.  _ If _ he ever got back to earth.

The purple-clad alien took mercy on him, finally releasing Howard’s tit, the red-robed alien quickly following suit. It made an incomprehensible gesture with its hand, and the mass of alien beings in the shadows arranged themselves into a line, single file, like schoolchildren.

The tall aliens gestured again, and one of the shorter aliens reached up to jiggle Howard’s tit. As if on reflex, Howard elbowed it in its giant head.

“None of that, human,” one of the tall aliens said. 

“Now see here,” began Howard, “I won’t be party to this any longer, sir. Ma’am. Er… whatever you are. This is bang out of order, and I’ll not--”

The alien reached out, repeating the same gesture from earlier, in the other room, tracing Howard’s forehead from temple to temple with a spindly finger. Its touch was lighter this time, just a wisp of pressure, and instead of knocking Howard unconscious, a wave of drowsiness washed over him. His entire body felt heavy, and he swayed from the effort of keeping upright as the other tall alien eased him to lie on his back on the bed. 

Howard’s eyes drooped, but he managed to keep them from closing completely through sheer stubbornness. He watched as the aliens took turns fondling his tits one-by-one, some groping, some jiggling, some slapping, feeling strangely detached from the action. Perhaps he should have screamed, or struggled, but it seemed like far too much effort.

This strange procession went on for some time; how much time, Howard was unsure. Time seemed to have lost all meaning, and a few half-formed thoughts about physics and the nature of spacetime and some old guy with wild white hair scattered across Howard’s mind. A dazed grin stretched itself across Howard’s lips as his chaotic thoughts arranged themselves into some vague private joke. 

Though Howard was feeling oddly detached from his body, he became aware that all the attention to his sensitive tits had given him an erection. He stared down between his legs at his penis, which looked grotesquely large and red, vaguely aware that he should be feeling  _ something _ , exposed or embarrassed maybe, to have a hard on in front of a room full of aliens who seemed to have a sort of strange interest in his body, but whatever the tall alien had done to him had blunted his sense of shame and self-loathing. He might have laughed had it not been too much effort to do so.

The tall aliens looked at each other and nodded.

“He is ready,” the red-robed alien said gravely.

“Yes,” the purple-clad alien agreed with a commensurate degree of solemness. “Our research indicates that once the human male is aroused, his penis will grow to grotesque proportions as he prepares for penetration.”

The alien in red turned to the shortest alien. “Fetch the probe,” he ordered.

The short alien grumbled but did as he was told, disappearing and reappearing with a large, gleaming silver phallic object that resembled a kind of futuristic oversized dildo. He placed the object into a machine that appeared to have a kind of articulated metallic arm, then drenched it with a slippery-looking fluid until it dripped with slick.

The purple-clad alien reached between Howard’s legs, tracing its gangly fingertip down Howard’s sac. The soft touch tickled, and Howard tried to squirm, but his limbs were too heavy to move. He settled for a sigh, which seemed to encourage the alien, whose finger was now slipping down his crease to fondle Howard’s anus. It rubbed small circles over the tight muscle, gently massaging the crinkled skin.

Though the alien’s finger was dry and did not attempt to penetrate him, Howard felt himself relax, his insides going slack and loose. It was a strange sensation, like a muscle being stretched, though Howard could not imagine for the life of him why he would want to stretch  _ that _ particular muscle. His penis seemed to have no such reservations, as it twitched and leaked as the alien continued fondling the sensitive skin of his anus. 

After a few more moments, the alien made a satisfied sound and withdrew its finger from between Howard’s arsecheeks. “I believe the human is sufficiently prepared for penetration.”

“Yes,” the red-robed alien agreed. “The probing shall commence.” It turned and fiddled with the dials of the strange machine next to the bed where Howard lay as the multitude of shorter aliens crowded closer in anticipation. 

Howard felt himself being rolled onto his stomach by several pairs of alien hands. Their skin was strangely smooth and cool, completely unlike the textured warmth of human skin, and he shivered. The aliens seemed to think his trembling signified some sort of human sexual response, judging by the snatches of obscene thought-speak that filtered into Howard’s mind. There were too many competing voices for Howard to make sense of it all, so he closed his eyes and focused on his breathing in an attempt to close his mind as well.

The machine hummed to life, and something cool and slippery probed between Howard’s arsecheeks. He tried to clench his buttocks, but whatever the alien had done to him prevented him from tensing his muscles. The probing sensation was replaced by a gentle yet insistent pressure at his anus which made Howard attempt to wriggle away, but his muscles refused to obey his brain.

The pressure intensified, until something suddenly  _ gave,  _ and all of a sudden, the cool, slick object that had been probing at his arsehole was  _ inside _ him. It was cool and slick, uncomfortably so, and Howard clenched, desperately trying to push the foreign object out of his body. Though he strained, the alien dildo remained stubbornly inside him.

A loud mechanical whirring sound started up as the object began to thrust in and out in quick, shallow motions. It didn’t take long for the cool surface to warm with Howard’s body heat, but the change in temperature did little to make the overall experience more comfortable, especially as the mass of alien beings crowded closer to him. Howard risked a glance over his shoulder, but immediately regretted it when he glimpsed the many alien faces with their small straight mouths and wide black eyes staring intently at his arse.

Howard was distantly aware of the tall aliens in the colorful robes lecturing the shorter aliens, though the words were indistinct and hard to follow. He had the sense that the aliens did not mean him to overhear, and thus, because they were not speaking directly into his head, their words were unintelligible, a fact for which he was thankful. The whole situation was uncomfortable enough; Howard did not particularly fancy overhearing the aliens’ commentary on his body as well.

He slumped and buried his face in the pillow, trying not to whimper when the machine beeped. Before he could imagine what the sound might signify, the alien dildo began  _ vibrating _ .

The vibrations were discomfiting enough on their own, but then the alien working the controls angled the dildo down. It brushed up against something inside Howard, something that made him whine a bit against his will. Despite himself, he could feel his penis throbbing and leaking onto his belly and the bedclothes, which was strange, considering that his prick was not being stimulated. However, the sensitive spot against which the dildo was vibrating seemed to be directly connected to his cock, which jerked and sputtered a bit every time the dildo nudged it. It was a completely alien sensation, not altogether unpleasurable, though Howard suspected that it would feel much better if he were experiencing it in a more comfortable location such as his bedroom, with a human penis attached to a human man instead of an alien dildo attached to some kind of weird alien fucking machine probing at his arse.

The purple-clad alien nudged the red-robed alien, who was still working the controls on the machine. The red-robed alien did something that made the machine beep, and the alien dildo began driving in and out of Howard’s arse, hard and fast, as the crowd of alien observers edged uncomfortably close.

Howard was quickly losing control. His body still felt heavy, and desperate for more friction, he attempted to hump his cock against the bedclothes as the alien dildo fucked him, but he could not move enough to stimulate himself properly. He would have minded more, had the sensation building inside him not been so intensely arousing. 

It didn’t take much longer before Howard shuddered and gasped. It seemed the orgasm would never end--every time he thought he was done, the dildo thrust against that sensitive place inside him, and he came again. It was torture, and Howard was torn between wanting it to end, and  _ never _ wanting it to stop.

His belly and thighs were soaked with semen and his balls ached, but still, the aliens kept probing at him, deeper, and deeper still. Suddenly, the vibrations intensified, and Howard grit his teeth so hard he nearly bit off his tongue. 

Finally, the torture ended. The dildo sputtered then went still, and Howard was dimly aware of a weird wet sensation deep inside his arse. 

The alien at the controls fiddled with the knobs and dials on the machine. The machine jerked and whirred, then withdrew the dildo from Howard’s arse. It made an embarrassing slurping sound, and the shame that had been so distant during the procedure awakened full force.

Howard moved to cover himself, surprised to find that he had regained control of his limbs. “What--what is  _ happening _ here?” he cried. “What have you  _ done _ to me?” He rolled himself into the fetal position, desperate to hide himself from the dozens of staring alien eyeballs.

“Quiet,” the red-robed alien said. “It’s just a routine probing, nothing worth getting so worked up over.”

“You see,” the purple-clad alien continued, “since you were completely useless in helping us achieve our original objective, which was gaining access to the hottest party in the infinite multiverse, we decided to use your body to test our most cutting-edge alien technology. We have been working on a method that would allow us to splice our advanced Uranian DNA with your primitive human genes...” The alien kept talking, rattling off a long list of complicated science terminology.

Howard could not make any sense of it at all. So he did the only thing he could do, considering the circumstances--he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, Howard gets non-consensually probed by the aliens using a fucking machine and a weird alien dildo. Howard pisses himself a little bit, but there is nothing sexual. The aliens also study his body, and Howard has some negative self-image to work out. Don't worry, the rest of the fic is mostly fluff and humor, so you can skip this chapter with minimal consequence if you're not into alien fucking.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is an awkward morning after. Is Howard still a virgin--or is he not? And what does Tony Harrison have to do with anything?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, much thanks to our betas, LittleBooshMaid, Radiumkind, and Concupiscence66! We would be so much worse without you.

The next time poor Howard opened his eyes, he found himself plastered to the sofa in his own flat, naked as the day he was born (and just about as terrified). He sat up, head spinning slightly, and squinted his eyes against the invading sunlight. Anxiously, he tried to piece together the basic information: _Where? In my flat. When? Daytime. But what day?_ He scanned the room, empty cans of beer littering the floor, some kind of mysterious white powder dusting the table, Saboo passed out in the armchair, and next to him on the couch? Tony bloody Harrison, wearing what appeared to be condoms on each of his tentacles, leaking a thin dribble of drool out the corner of his mouth onto the sofa. _Who? The Shaman._

“Gah!” Howard shrieked as he jumped up, then grabbed a pillow to preserve his modesty. With a snort, Tony Harrison blinked awake, groaning as he did so, “Aw, someone close the curtains, I’ve got a blinder!” Howard backed himself toward the windows, doing his best to shield his nakedness from Tony Harrison, though why he should be embarrassed in front of someone who _literally_ looked like a scrotum with tentacles, he wasn’t sure. He just knew the entire situation was making him uncomfortable. Hastily, he pulled the curtains over the windows, casting the room into semi-darkness. 

“What happened?” he asked, trying to keep the panic from his voice and failing miserably. 

Tony Harrison faced Howard, unsubtly leering at his nakedness. “We had a proper party last night, didn’t we, Sunshine?”

“Why’m I here? How did I get here? The last thing I remember, I was in an alien spaceship, being... examined... by aliens from the planet Uranus!” Howard cried. He narrowed his eyes at the pink tentacled menace. The condoms on Tony Harrison’s tentacles drooped menacingly, and Howard had an unpleasant flashback to the time he had traded Tony Harrison some... services... in exchange for a rare Rudi and Spider vinyl he’d found at the Shaman Car Boot sale Naboo had dragged him to. The memory, combined with the awful possibilities of the present situation, made Howard shiver. “You didn’t _do_ anything to me in my sleep, did you?”

“To you?” Tony Harrison grimaced. He’d been off his tits on poppers, and drunk and stoned to boot--he didn’t remember anything about the night before, but even when he was totally fucked, he usually had better taste than beige jazz badgers. Excluding that one time, but Howard had been desperate for cash, and Tony Harrison had just been desperate. “Fuck if I know, but I definitely didn’t _do_ anything to you.” 

“Then why’ve you got… prophylactics, on your, erm…” Howard stuttered, unable to fully verbalize the horror.

Tony glanced down at his appendages and seeing the condoms on each, got a malicious glint in his eye. He waggled his nonexistent eyebrows suggestively at Howard. “Well, well… maybe we _did_ get up to something.”

Howard thought he was going to vomit. No _way_ would he have lost his virginity to a pink ballbag with more tentacles than cock, not even if he’d been blacked out on alien magic. But a twinge of pain and an uncomfortable sticky feeling between his legs seemed to suggest otherwise. 

To his horror, Saboo shuffled awake, at full snark capacity even hungover and with minimal sleep. 

“As hideous as you are, you look well-fucked,” he said disparagingly. Howard was about to defend himself when Dennis arose from the floor behind the couch. 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Dennis said, altogether more nonchalantly than Howard thought the situation merited. “We’ve all got off with Tony Harrison.”

“He’s the shaman council’s communal carpet,” spat Saboo, his voice low with vitriol. “Everyone’s had a ride.” 

“And you’re all grateful about it,” keened Tony Harrison, who was in the process of removing the condoms from his tentacles, and failing spectacularly. 

“It’s true,” said Dennis, his eyes far away. “The best handjob I’ve ever received was at the tentacles of Tony Harrison.” 

“Piss off, that didn’t count,” groused Tony. “Saboo on the other hand--”

“No. No. If you dare speak another word, you will come to the Crunch, I swear on my life, Tony Harrison--”

“All right! Don’t get your knickers in a twist. It’s far too early and I’m too pissed for the Crunch anyhow.” 

“You’re all... sick,” Howard said, as he stumbled his way to the bathroom. He lost the pillow about halfway there as he stubbed his toe on a crate of what looked like poppers. _Wonderful, bloody brilliant,_ he thought angrily as he made his way to the bathroom and locked himself inside. 

Stepping to the mirror, he braced himself to look up. His reflection greeted him looking about as nauseated as he felt--slightly grey all over, dark circles like he hadn’t had any sleep, hair mussed. He inspected himself all over for injuries, but found none. He _was_ a bit tender between the legs, and there was that strange sticky feeling to consider, but… surely that didn’t mean he’d got off with Tony Harrison. 

_Right?_

Howard ran the shower as hot as he could make it and let the steam wash away the pervasive grossness he felt all over himself, but especially between the cheeks of his arse. He thought back to the events of the night before and the unusual... examination... the aliens had performed on him. He soaped himself between his legs thoroughly, as if he could wash away the memory with enough soap and hot water. Sure, the aliens had touched him in his private areas, but the head alien had said that it was a medical procedure... something about splicing genes... so he rationalized that his virginity was still intact with a grateful sigh. 

Once that question had been settled, Howard thought back to earlier in the evening, the fashion show Vince had put on when trying to decide on an outfit. 

_Vince._

He remembered they’d fought. No, they hadn’t fought; he’d just stalked off in a fit of pique when Vince started getting bratty. But then, later on, Vince _had_ outed him as a virgin once again to a room full of people. Howard’s cheeks flushed as he remembered his embarrassment, the way the blonde girl and that whole room of people had laughed at him. He’d needed to escape, so he went up to the roof. 

That’s when things got… strange. 

Flashes of images played before his mind’s eye, like a slideshow going entirely too fast. Chrome walls. Gray faces. Black bug eyes. Bright lights. Pissing into a bowl. So many eyes watching him. Then… the machine. 

Nausea rolled over Howard as the realization hit him. Gripped by panic, he forced himself to breathe. He, Howard Moon, had been abducted and… _probed_ by aliens! He knew if he hadn’t been standing in the shower he’d be breaking out in an anxious sweat. 

Shaking his head as if to disperse the disturbing image-memories, he cleaned himself thoroughly. Once. Twice. Three times. Then a fourth just to be sure. The water had started cooling, and not for the first time in his life, Howard was sad that he couldn’t just live in the shower. 

Reluctantly, he stepped out and toweled himself dry. He desperately hoped the shaman were gone by this time. He wanted to speak to Vince, to tell him what had happened. Of course, he was still angry with Vince for being a twat last night, but the decades-old instinct to tell his best friend when something horrible happened triumphed over his paltry anger. 

The sound of the shower running too long (hovering between “my hair’s really full of product and I really do need to rinse and repeat” and “Howard’s having a fit of some kind”) woke Vince from the delicate process of sleeping off the night before. He sat up in bed, ruffled his hair, and willed the room to stop spinning. Luckily, he’d left some water on the bedside table and drank it quickly before getting up. He checked himself in the mirror--makeup was smudged beneath his eyes, his hair was a _sight,_ and he was still wearing last night’s clothes. Grabbing his kimono, he made his way to the bathroom. The lingering scent of Basic White Soap from Poundland told him he was correct: Howard had been in here, probably having some kind of water-fueled fit. Vince shook his head, and proceeded to wash up before heading out. He could hear Howard in the kitchen, and was dying for some tea. 

Vince emerged minutes later, grateful the Shaman had apparently departed and looking artfully disheveled but still breathtaking (at least in Howard’s mind. How someone could be that hungover and still look, frankly, _beautiful_ the next morning wasn’t right or fair). Howard’s hands shook slightly as he went about the familiar movements of making tea and toast. Vince frowned a bit, a wrinkle forming between his brows. Usually Howard was chipper the morning after a party if only because the house was “safe” again. This morning, however, Howard was buzzing with nerves and discomfort. Vince cleared his throat. “All right, Howard?”

Howard dropped the saucer he’d been holding on the counter. It didn’t break, just made a clatter that might have woken the dead. 

“I’m fine, Vince,” he said, giving the worst fake smile Vince had ever seen. Howard looked _terrible._ His hair hadn’t been brushed or combed (and neither had his moustache, which dropped raggedly over his upper lip), his skin was pale, and he had dark circles beneath his eyes. All of this was pretty much “Howard’s everyday look” but today it seemed exaggerated. 

“You sure, Howard? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Oh god, it’s not the Hitcher again, is it?”

“We should be so lucky,” Howard muttered under his breath. Hissing, he yanked his hand away from where he’d absentmindedly let it rest on the toaster. Vince stepped in. 

“Sit down, Howard, you’ve only gone and burned yourself.” He pulled out the kitchen chair and pushed Howard down into it before turning for a towel dipped in cool water for Howard’s hand. “What’s gotten into you? Bad night?”

Howard stared blankly ahead of him, eyes glazed and unfocused. Panic started to rise up in Vince. “Howard?” he asked again. “What’s wrong?”

“Vince… do you… that is, do you believe in, erm… aliens?” 

Vince chuckled, but seeing the deathly serious look on Howard’s face, the grin crept its way back off his face, replaced again with that sense of panic. “Dunno, Howard. I mean, technically, Naboo’s an alien, ain’t he? In that he’s not from Earth,” Vince replied, making toast without really focusing on the task. “Why d’you ask?”

“You won’t believe this,” Howard prefaced, his voice low and shaky. Vince sat down in the chair next to him. He struggled to squash the instinct to grab Howard’s hand or put an arm around his shoulders like he might’ve done when they were children. He knew now, though, that physical contact would upset Howard rather than soothe him. 

“Try me,” Vince said, his large eyes meeting Howard’s scared ones. 

“Last night… I went up on the roof after you told the entire room I was a virgin.”

“About that… I’m sorry, Howard. S’just--”

“That’s not important, Vince.” Howard cleared his throat, shifting nervously in his seat. Vince was getting proper worried now. What had happened to Howard? He hoped that none of the seedy Shaman had done anything damaging to him. 

“I went up on the rooftop,” Howard continued. “And… promise you won’t laugh?”

“‘Course, Howard,” Vince said, leaning closer and wishing he could reach out and touch Howard in reassurance. 

“I think… Vince, I was abducted by aliens.” 

Vince’s first instinct was to laugh. No. To guffaw. This was absolutely the _dumbest_ thing Howard had ever said. 

However, that niggling fear that had been worrying Vince for the last few minutes won out over laughter, even of the nervous kind. Howard looked ready to burst into tears. He was deathly earnest. 

“What?” Vince asked. 

“I got taken away by aliens, Vince. They came in a ship. There was a bright light and then… I must have passed out, but I woke up in a room. On a spaceship. And there were these little grey men with big eyes and--”

“And let me guess,” a voice lisped sardonically. “After that they all lined up to have sex with you?” Naboo and Bollo had been listening, and Bollo gave a snort of laughter

“Well, no,” Howard admitted. “But they lined up and took turns gently batting my tits around for a while.” 

Naboo and Bollo looked at Howard skeptically. 

“That disgusting,” Bollo muttered.

In contrast to Naboo and Bollo, Vince looked concerned. “Were you... did you feel... threatened, Howard?”

“Well, no,” Howard admitted. “They were really quite respectful about the whole thing. It was very orderly, they lined up single file and everything.”

“Did it hurt?” Vince asked.

“Well, not at the time,” Howard said. “One of the aliens in charge--you could tell it was in charge because it was way taller than the other aliens, and it was wearing a long purple robe--put me under some kind of sedation spell, but now that you mention it, my tits do feel kind of... tender... today...”

“That is well depraved,” Naboo spat. “Why are you sharing your weird extraterrestrial sexual fantasies over breakfast? Me and Bollo are just trying to eat here. Our stomachs are already upset enough from the sheer amount of booze we drank last night.”

“And the peyote,” Bollo added. “Peyote always make Bollo feel sick.”

“This isn’t a fantasy! I don’t fantasize about aliens knocking my tits around. I fantasize about _normal_ stuff, with normal, human women, doing normal, human sex things,” Howard protested. “No, sir, this _actually_ happened.”

Neither Bollo nor Naboo looked convinced. 

“Then what happened, Howard?” Vince asked.

“Well,” Howard began, unsure how much to tell. Some of the stuff the aliens had done to him was a little embarrassing. But he was encouraged by the look of care and concern in Vince’s eyes. It reminded Howard of happier times, before his horrible birthday and the shame and embarrassment of his first kiss. “Well, then the aliens did some kind of... internal exam--”

Bollo and Naboo burst out laughing.

“Let me guess,” Naboo wheezed out between guffaws, “the aliens put a probe up your arse and used some weird machine to wiggle it around while they completed their ‘examination’.”

“And the aliens said they from Uranus,” Bollo cackled.

“Umm... yes?” Howard said, his voice going all high-pitched. “How did you know that?”

“Christy, Howard, you are such a fucking _cliche,_ ” Naboo mocked. “That’s like the plot of every single bad intergalactic alien porno _ever_.”

The shaman and his familiar laughed so hard they were gasping for air. 

Vince felt torn. On the one hand, he was concerned for Howard’s well-being. If he _had_ actually been... probed... by the aliens, he was likely to have a breakdown from the stress and trauma once he realized that he’d lost his virginity to a bunch of intergalactic beings from the planet Uranus. On the other hand, Naboo was a literal alien, and so it was logical that Naboo would know about alien abductions and... stuff... and it was clear that Naboo thought Howard was full of shite. 

Besides, Vince had a suspicion that Howard _knew_ deep down he wasn’t really a virgin. Not technically, not after all that business with the Spirit of Jazz getting inside him, or the time Howard had been kidnapped by a psychotic merman with a downstairs mix-up who wanted to marry him and make him drink Bailey’s from a shoe every day of their married life, or any other of the many dubiously consensual sexual humiliations Howard had endured in his life. Surely, Howard must have known that after all _that_ his virginity was hardly intact. 

Vince snuck a glance at Howard, who was awkwardly toying with his teacup. Howard appeared to be taking the events of last evening well enough, maybe even _too_ well for someone who so adamantly insisted that he was a virgin at 33 years of age. Vince had been there for Howard after each of his friend’s previous brushes with nonconsensual sexual encounters, and he’d been a trembling mess after each one.

Vince made his decision and took a deep breath. “Gross, Howard. I can’t believe you’ve been sneaking around and getting off over alien fetish films. I thought those jazz magazines with names like ‘Jizz on My Face’ and ‘Tromboner’ were weird enough, but... _aliens?_ You’ve met actual aliens, and you _know_ how perverted they are! What, jazz geezers putting trombones up their bums are too vanilla for you now, and you need to get off to, like, Tony Harrison?”

Howard looked up at Vince, betrayal in his tiny eyes. Ribbing from Naboo and Bollo were to be expected, but he really thought for a moment that Vince was taking him seriously. For a brief moment, Vince had looked so concerned and tender… it was like having his childhood friend back. Anger surged through Howard, and he shoved the teacup away out of his hands, upending his tea everywhere. 

“Fine. Have a laugh at my expense, it’s what’s expected isn’t it? I know what happened to me, and Howard Moon is a man of his word!” With a slam of his fist on the table, he left for the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. 

Bollo and Naboo were still hysterically slagging him off, but Vince felt guilty. It wasn’t an emotion he was comfortable with or used to. It felt itchy and wrong, like clothing that didn’t quite fit. He swallowed his tea, gave a fake laugh, and returned to the bathroom to finish getting ready for the day, trying to stifle his remorse with hairspray.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who took the time to read and leave kudos and comments! Bobby and I certainly appreciate the support. Brace yourselves, we're just getting started!


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeks after his... encounter... with the aliens, Howard still isn't quite right. He's sweaty, moody, and vomiting frequently. Worried for his friend's life, Vince drags Howard to see Naboo for a checkup, where Howard receives some unexpected news--he's pregnant. Is Tony Harrison the other father? But wait! How, exactly, did a virgin like Howard get pregnant in the first place?

Howard did his best to forget the events of that fateful night and return to his normal routines, but try as he might, things remained strange. He got up in the mornings to attend his Jazzercise classes, but it got harder to wake up every day--he was just so _tired_ all the time. Whereas Jazzercise usually left him feeling jazzed-up for the rest of the day, he was exhausted at the end of each class, often leaving Vince to manage the shop on his own as Howard snuck an afternoon nap.

He was also getting weird cravings for foods that didn’t _go_ together, like spaghetti with marinara, treacle, and marshmallows. He was constantly hungry, and gaining weight rapidly; every pound he gained seemed to go straight to his stomach while his arms and legs remained willowy and slim. Vince had more than once commented that his pins resembled hosepipes propping up a beanbag, and while the insult was neither new nor original, it had never before bothered Howard. Now, he had to admit that maybe Vince had a point.

He tried cutting back his intake, but the hunger was impossible to ignore, and he just ended up stuffing himself with weird combinations of food, getting fatter all the time.

Then the vomiting started. 

At first, it only happened in the mornings. Howard simply assumed that his stomach was rebelling against his recent habit of ingesting late-night snacks such as sardines with blueberries and cheddar on crackers or chicken tikka on ice cream in portions that might more properly be considered a meal. He’d vomit, then go about his business for the rest of the day. 

Gradually, the vomiting got worse. Howard was puking after nearly every meal. He seemed to be unusually sensitive to smells, and if he got close enough to Bollo to get a whiff of his gorilla-esque body odor, it sent him running to the loo as he tried not to vomit on himself. Even Naboo’s pungent, pervasive odor of marijuana made him light-headed and nauseated. 

Vince, however, seemed to smell sweeter every day, like candyfloss and strawberry shampoo. 

As Vince’s smell grew sweeter, his concern grew greater. He started to get worried, eyeing Howard suspiciously as he ran off to the bathroom after every meal. He hung around enough fashionable and trendy people to know the warning signs of an eating disorder. Only Howard was _gaining_ weight, not losing it. Furthermore, the vomiting seemed to happen all the time, not just in conjunction with food. 

As the days melted into weeks, Vince kept a very close eye on Howard. He even woke himself up in the middle of the night like Jahooli the Leopard had taught him to, and checked on Howard to make sure he was sleeping okay at night. Howard did sleep well at night, but sometimes a sweat broke out over his brow. Vince would lay his hand on Howard’s head, checking for fever, but the skin was cool and clammy. 

If there was no fever, and he was getting enough sleep at night, why was Howard always so run down? Why would responsible, duty-bound Howard leave off in the middle of the day for a sleepie? Why was he eating such terrible food? And why was he so _emotional_ all the time?

The thought struck Vince like a bolt of lightning. He sat up in bed, the answer pulsing through him like an electric shock: _Howard is dying. Again._

Vince fitfully tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t. Over and over again, scenes from Howard’s terrible funeral at the Zooniverse played in Vince’s mind. He’d lost Howard once and it had been awful. He wasn’t about to let it happen again. 

When Howard awoke that morning, he found Vince perched on his bed, eyeing him like a predator. Howard started. “Christy, Vince! What are you doing?”

“Get up,” Vince ordered. “You need to see Naboo.” 

“What? No!” 

“Get up, Howard. You’re going to see Naboo.” Vince reached out for Howard’s arm and made to stand up with the obvious intention of dragging Howard bodily to the shaman’s room. Howard yanked his arm back as he got out of bed. 

“No, sir, not until you tell me what this is all about!” Howard cried. Vince stood pigeon-toed in the middle of their bedroom looking small and worn. For the first time it dawned on Howard that Vince hadn’t slept all night, or at least had been awake for most of it. Vince’s liquid blue eyes looked wide and full of fear. He hadn’t seen Vince this upset in ages. “Little man, what’s going on?” he asked gently. 

Vince wiped his hand across his beaky nose, sniffling. “What’s going on? That’s what _I’d_ like to know, Howard!” His voice cracked as it rose in panic. “Every day you’re in the loo gettin’ sick. You’re always exhausted and moody and sweaty and you eat weird foods but you’re always getting ill afterwards. I can’t take it anymore! I already had to bury you once, and I’m not doing it again!” With this final pronouncement, Vince threw his arms around Howard’s middle. 

Shocked by this outburst, Howard instinctively wrapped his arms around Vince, noting how much more padding there was between them. Despite all the vomiting, he _was_ undoubtedly gaining weight. 

“There, there, little man, it’s all right. I’ll go talk to Naboo,” he soothed into the mass of Vince’s hair beneath his chin. Vince looked up, all smiles on his pointy face. 

“You mean that, Howard?”

“You forced me into it.” 

Vince grabbed Howard’s hand and dragged him beyond the beaded curtain that led into Naboo’s room. 

The room was thick with fragrant smoke that made Howard’s eyes water and his stomach cramp. He swallowed, fighting the urge to gag, rubbing instinctively at his belly in an attempt to calm his stomach and keep from vomiting.

Vince, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Howard since his late-night panic attack about Howard dying, noticed his discomfort and immediately opened a window.

“Hey!” Naboo cried. “Why are you letting all the smoke out? We’re trying to hotbox in here.”

“Of course,” Saboo grumbled. “Leave it to Naboo’s shitty earth pets to ruin our afternoon.”

As the smoke cleared, Howard realized that the entire Shaman Council was present. The last thing he wanted was for all of Naboo’s awful shaman friends to hear the details of his embarrassing health problems. He shot a meaningful look at Vince in an attempt to communicate his discomfort telepathically, but Vince was too anxiously wound-up to pay him much mind.

“You gotta help us, Naboo! We have an _emergency_.”

Naboo sighed. “What stupid situation have you gotten yourselves into now?” Vince and Howard were _always_ bothering him to help them with their petty Earthling problems, claiming that minor inconveniences such as a broken kettle or figuring out ways to impress Goth girls were emergencies. They never had any _actual_ emergencies, but Naboo knew that the quickest way to get them to stop bothering him was just to magic away their problems. Otherwise, he’d have to listen to Vince and Howard attempt to deal with it on their own, which could take _hours_.

“Howard’s _dying!_ ” Vince exclaimed. “And the last time he died was awful enough! I had to bury him and play a song about a train at his funeral! You don’t know how bad it was! He can’t die again. You have to save him, Naboo!”

“I’m sure it’s not so bad as all that,” Howard interrupted. 

“Oh yeah?” Vince’s voice was rough, almost as if he was fighting back tears. “Then why are you throwing up all the time? And you’re always tired--you’ve been taking naps every day! Sometimes twice! You _never_ take naps. You used to say that naps were only for electro-poofs and slow lorises.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m _dying_ ,” Howard insisted. “It’s probably just a stomach virus.”

“What about all the weird food? I caught you eating pickles in blueberry jam last night!”

“That’s not weird!” Howard protested. “Plenty of cuisines mix the savory and the sweet.”

The Shaman Council did not look convinced. Even Tony Harrison recoiled at the idea of combining pickles and jam.

“And you’re so sweaty lately... I mean, your hair is greasier than it’s ever been! You just washed it last night, and it’s already clinging to your scalp like an octopus!” Vince seemed especially distressed about that. 

Naboo considered. Perhaps Vince had a point. Howard had a tenuous relationship to grooming, but he looked especially disheveled these days. Combined with the vomiting, the exhaustion, and the unlikely culinary combinations, all signs pointed to Howard being unwell. “Hold still, Howard. I’m going to cast a magic spell that will scan your body for any abnormalities.”

“Harold extremely abnormal,” Bollo muttered. Tony Harrison and Saboo cackled in agreement.

“Quiet, you ballbags! I have to concentrate!” Naboo shot his fellow shaman a withering look. Tony Harrison and Saboo did not stop laughing, but at least they had enough consideration to stifle their laughter with a hand (or in Tony Harrison’s case, a tentacle) over their mouths.

Naboo closed his eyes and muttered an incantation under his breath. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Howard’s stomach glowed green.

“What’s happening?” Howard cried, staring at his midsection, his forehead creased with worry. “Is it cancer?”

“Oh my God...” Vince wavered on his feet, dangerously close to a swoon. Bollo, ever the helpful gorilla, caught him before he could topple over completely. “I knew it, Howard! I knew something was wrong!”

“Chill!” Naboo snapped. “It’s nothing serious. Howard’s just pregnant.”

Howard’s head snapped up. “How can I be _pregnant?”_ he spat. Sure, he’d been throwing up in the mornings, and gaining weight despite the fact that all he wanted to eat was pickle and blueberry jam sandwiches and throwing up all the time, and he was always tired these days, but certainly there had to be another, more plausible, explanation for his symptoms.

“Of course you’re pregnant,” Naboo said matter-of-factly. “This is very precise magic, it’s never wrong.”

“But... but... Pregnant!” Howard stuttered. “I can’t be _pregnant!”_

“Sure you can. It’s because of all the sodomy,” Tony Harrison leered.

“What sodomy?” Howard asked.

“You know, when your ugly wife puts his penis in your bum and wiggles it around until he ejaculates and all the little sperm fertilize the eggs in your belly?” Saboo said, even more sarcastically than usual. “ _That’s_ sodomy.”

“But Vince and I... we don’t... we’re not like that!” Howard sputtered, as Tony Harrison cried, “You’re telling me that ugly bird who follows Howard around everywhere.... is a _man?”_

The members of the shaman council exchanged dubious looks. 

Saboo looked at Tony Harrison in disgust. “How did you not know Vince is a man?”

“You can see his penis in like, every pair of trousers he owns,” Kirk said, with a waggle of his eyebrows that was far too obscene on his childlike face. 

“I thought she just had an extremely large clitoris,” Tony Harrison admitted. “I like a woman with a big clit, a real mouthful...”

“You’re disgusting,” Naboo said. 

“Now Mrs H, she’s got a big one. Real meaty--”

“I’m not... we’ve never... I’m a _virgin!_ ” Howard protested over the squabbles of the Shaman Council. “I’ve never had sex with anyone, especially not Vince!”

“It’s true,” Vince said softly. “Me ‘n Howard’ve never had sex. Well. Not with each other.”

The Shaman Council interrupted their discussion of Tony Harrison’s sexual proclivities and stared at the two men.

“You mean to tell us that you two codependent creases spend every moment of every day together, sleep in the same room, and bicker like an old married couple, but you’re not _bumming_?” Saboo asked incredulously. 

“Well, _yeah,_ ” Vince said. 

“This is an outrage!” Tony Harrison cried. 

“You’re outraged?” Kirk asked. “ _I’m_ outraged! I bet a lot of money on Howard being the one taking it up the arse!”

Dennis, who was stoned out of mind from just being in the room while the rest of the shaman took turns at the hookah, blinked. “Wait... didn’t you say that you were in love that one time I almost beheaded you?” He reached for his sword, struggling to remove it from his scabbard, but was too stoned to manage it. He gave up and shot Vince a dazed look instead. “I could have sworn you said that you were bumming Howard.” 

“Two people can love each other without the bumming,” Vince murmured earnestly, eyeing the floor.

“Also, why is everyone assuming that _if_ we were bumming, _I’d_ be the one getting bummed?” Howard asked.

All five members of the Shaman Council plus Bollo gave Howard the same pitying look.

“Just look at yourself,” Saboo muttered. 

“I look at myself every single day, and I see a strong, generously endowed Northern man, a man capable of penetrating both mind and body deeply--”

Tony Harrison snorted. “You’re a right bottom bitch if I’ve ever seen one!”

The Shaman Council, even Naboo, who was repulsed by any and all sex acts, human and non-human, nodded in agreement.

Howard shot a searching glance at Vince, silently imploring his best friend to back him up. Surely Vince knew him better than the drug-addled deviants who comprised the Shaman Council! But Vince merely flushed and stared conspicuously at the floor.

“I can’t believe this,” Howard muttered. Even Vince, who had known him for most of his life, seemed to be in agreement with the Shaman Council’s assessment of Howard’s preferred position, were he ever to cross the physical boundary. 

“Sorry, Howard,” Vince mumbled, still avoiding eye contact. 

Saboo crossed his arms. “Well, that settles it. Howard Moon, you are a filthy arse bandit.”

“Well,” Naboo said, “if you’re not shagging Vince, then who’s the daddy?”

“ _I’m_ the daddy!” Howard cried.

Naboo rolled his eyes. “The _other_ daddy, then.”

All eyes turned to Tony Harrison. It was the logical conclusion, considering that they had stumbled upon a naked Howard, collapsed on the living room floor next to Tony Harrison, who’d been wearing condoms on every one of his pink tentacles, the morning after the party.

“No way!” Howard shouted in protest. “I would never shag Tony Harrison!” The whole... encounter... at the car boot sale notwithstanding, Howard found the pink tentacled alien revolting. Vince looked disgusted, shooting Howard a look that said _I can’t believe you, Howard._

None of the shaman paid Howard any mind. 

For his part, Tony Harrison seemed nonplussed by the situation. “Don’t remember a thing from that night. Wouldn’t be the first time I shagged someone off my tits on poppers. I’d like to think I have higher standards than you, but what’s done is done, Sunshine.” He leered suggestively at Howard. 

“Isn’t there some way you can tell? Like, with magic or whatnot?” asked Vince. Howard looked green about the gills, like he might be sick. Vince moved a little closer in case he had to help prop Howard up or something. 

“There is a paternity test we can do,” Naboo answered. “I’ll need a sample.” Kirk giggled in the corner of the room. 

“A semen sample?” Howard asked bashfully. He _definitely_ did not want to wank into a jar in a room full of drug-addled shaman.

“No, you idiot. A blood sample.” 

Howard blanched. “No, sir. I won’t consent to that, not from you, not in this unsanitary environment.” 

“Aw, go on,” keened Tony Harrison. “I want to know if I’ve managed to slip one past the goalie after all these years!” 

“For the sake of the entire multiverse, I hope not,” spat Saboo. 

Naboo rummaged in his cabinets and approached Howard holding a small purple vial of liquid, and a small paper-wrapped package. “Here, this is a brand new scalpel,” Naboo said, handing the small, slim item wrapped in sanitary packaging to Howard. Both he and Vince looked suspicious.

“Um, Naboo... why do you have a scalpel just lying around?” Vince asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, but he figured he owed it to Howard to ask.

“Always keep ‘em on hand for potions making. Really good for extracting beaks from owls. Anyway, this one’s new.” Naboo tapped his foot impatiently. “Go on and open it, Howard.” 

Howard had backed himself against the wall. He looked ready to bolt from the room at the earliest opportunity. Curiosity getting the better of him, Vince took the proffered package and opened it. He held up the scalpel for the room’s approval and general observation. 

Vince tried his best to soothe Howard’s fear. “It is new! It’s well shiny, see, Howard?” 

Howard looked ready to faint. Naboo grabbed the scalpel out of Vince’s hand. Quick as a flash, he grabbed Howard’s hand and had made a minute incision, gathering only the necessary one drop of blood and bottling it in the vial. 

A thump came from the corner of the room where Dennis passed out. 

“Vince, go get Howard a plaster and some tea, he looks awful. This’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes,” Naboo said calmly. Tony Harrison and Saboo were finding entirely too much hilarity in the whole situation, particularly Dennis’s inability to handle blood as well as drugs. 

Vince looped his arm through Howard’s and led him out to the sofa. “Lie down, Howard, I’ll get us some tea.” Howard wore a blank expression which barely concealed the abject terror in his tiny eyes. Vince got him settled on the sofa and returned to the kitchen to make some tea and toast. While the kettle was boiling and the toast toasting, he dug out their meager first aid kit. He kneeled before Howard as he cleansed the small wound and applied a plaster featuring a popular cartoon character on Howard’s small incision. 

“See?” Vince asked, feigning a calmness he did not feel. He was altogether too worried that Tony Harrison _was_ the other father of Howard’s baby. An unfamiliar, sour feeling that Vince refused to call jealousy was roiling in his stomach. “Better already.” 

Howard was still staring blankly at nothing. “Pregnant?” he asked no one in particular. 

“Shh,” soothed Vince, smoothing the greasy curls from Howard’s forehead. “Don’t worry about that now.” The kettle whistled and Vince returned to the kitchen. He made Howard’s tea just as he liked it, piled a small plate with toast, and brought it to Howard. “At least have some tea,” he pled, though Howard looked ready to vomit. 

Hoping to soothe his own turning stomach, Vince swallowed a mouthful of tea. The two men were sitting in silence, staring down their teacups, both lost in thought, when the entire Shaman Council burst into the room like a drug-stenched parade. 

“Well,” Naboo announced, “we have the results.”

Howard shot a panicked look at Tony Harrison, who waggled a non-existent eyebrow at the terrified man. It did not help the feeling of dread knotted inside Howard’s guts. Neither did it assuage the sour feeling Vince was resolutely refusing to call jealousy at the idea that Tony Harrison might have bummed Howard so thoroughly he’d gotten the man pregnant.

“The good news,” Naboo continued, oblivious to Vince and Howard’s inner dilemmas, “is that Tony Harrison is not the father.”

Both Howard and Vince let out matching sighs of relief as Tony Harrison whined, “Ohhh! All right, then.” 

“So I’m not having an alien baby,” Howard said.

“Oh, you’re definitely having an alien baby,” Saboo said with a sardonic smile. “The bad news is that the other father is from...” Here he paused for dramatic effect. Vince and Howard leaned forward in anticipation. “Uranus!”

The Shaman Council erupted into a fit of hysterical laughter.

“C’mon guys, stop joking around! This is serious!” Vince admonished, a bit appalled that Saboo would make such a juvenile joke. Under any other circumstances, Vince would have laughed along with the Shaman Council, but Howard’s _life_ was on the line here.

The Shaman Council were laughing too hard to respond. Vince’s temper flared. He almost threw his mug of steaming tea at the laughing shaman, but Howard stopped him with a trembling hand on his wrist.

“I don’t think they’re joking, Vince,” Howard said seriously. “Remember the morning after the party? When I told you about the... aliens?”

Vince nodded. His memory was a little fuzzy, due to the strength of the hangover he’d been nursing at the time, but he vaguely recalled Howard saying something about a spaceship, and aliens, and... a probing? 

“The aliens,” Howard continued, “said they were from _Uranus_.”

The color drained from Vince’s face. Howard had been trying to tell him something, but he’d just laughed along with Naboo and Bollo, mocking his friend for telling stories about being abducted by a spaceship full of little grey aliens. While he’d almost believed Howard at first, he’d ultimately decided that Howard must have been lying for attention after he’d stormed out of the party. Now, however, Vince was faced with the incontrovertible fact that Howard had been telling the truth. “Wait,” he said, before he could stop himself, “you mean you had _sex_ with the aliens?”

“No sir!” Howard cried. “I didn’t have sex with the aliens! I’m a _virgin_ , Vince! You know that!”

“Ugh,” Naboo scoffed, “you’re _still_ insisting you’re a virgin, Howard? I know Earth has a lot of weird legends about some slag in Jerusalem having an immaculate conception about two thousand years ago, but that was made up by a bunch of old guys in togas to convince people to join their new religion.”

“I know your intellectual capacity is limited,” Saboo added, “but even _you_ have to know how babies are made.”

“When a man--or an alien--loves another man very much,” Dennis said, “he puts his staff into your... posterior passage--”

“What Dennis is trying to say,” Kirk interrupted, “is that the aliens had to put that baby into your bum by having sex with you.”

“They have popped your proverbial cherry!” Tony Harrison added. “You’ve been well and thoroughly deflowered _in_ your anus _by_ Uranus!” He tapped his tentacles on the floor in an approximation of an old man slapping his knee. 

“All right, that’s enough,” said Vince. “Can you leave us alone, please? Howard has a lot to process.” 

If Howard had been capable of doing anything other than staring distractedly into space and muttering to himself, he would certainly have agreed, Vince rationalized as he escorted the Shaman Council out of the room. The last thing Howard needed was for five drug-addicted arseholes to witness (and mock) his belated sexual awakening.

Vince turned to Howard, who was sitting on the couch with a blank expression on his face. He was clutching his teacup with a white-knuckled grip, though the tea had long since gone cold. Vince waved a hand in front of Howard’s face; when that garnered no response, he chanced laying a hand on his shoulder.

The physical contact made Howard jump and spill his cold tea on himself. Luckily, it also woke him from his comatose state: Howard stared down at the rapidly-spreading patch of spilled tea. “Oh,” he said, looking surprised and confused.

Vince fetched a towel from the kitchen, which he passed to Howard, who had come back to himself enough to dab ineffectively at the tea stain. “You all right there, Howard?” Vince asked.

“I don’t understand,” Howard mumbled as he wrung the now-soaked towel in his hands. “I’ve never had sex. How can I not be a virgin?”

Vince sighed. It seemed he was going to have to spell it out for Howard in full, awkward glory. “Well,” Vince explained gently in a low and soothing tone, “sex can be a lot of things. Like Bob Fossil giving you coin for booty. Or the Spirit of Jazz getting up inside of you. Or playing love games with a hermaphrodite merman. Or whatever that creep Eleanor paid you to do to her vagina. Or that time you let Tony Harrison gag you and sodomize you with his barbed alien penis so you could buy that record. Or all that stuff you did with the three jazz geezers in that weird jazz fetish magazine Leroy and I found in the lining of your trombone case. Sex can even been when an alien impregnates you using a high tech alien dildo.”

“All that stuff was _sex?”_ Howard’s stomach heaved, and he was starting to feel nauseated again. It wasn’t the same nausea as morning sickness, which was sudden and violent. This was uneasy and subtle, but it twisted his insides uncomfortably all the same.

Vince felt a pang of regret for all the times he’d teased Howard about his insistence that he was a virgin. He’d long known about Howard’s various sexual exploits; it just hadn’t occurred to him that his best friend was so naive about carnal matters that he didn’t actually know what sex was. 

“What did you _think_ sex was, Howard?” Vince asked softly, hoping that Howard wouldn’t get offended at the question. 

“I don’t know! Like, uh, kissing, and declarations of love and, er, spooning, you know, after all the, um, messy business is, uh, done with?”

“Well, that’s making love. Making love is a _kind_ of sex, but not the only one.”

“So, you’re telling me,” Howard said, enunciating each word slowly and carefully, “that I’ve been having sex all this time, but I’ve never... made love?” The last two words, _made love_ , came out all high-pitched and weird.

“Yeah,” Vince said, “that’s _exactly_ what I’m saying.”

Howard hung his head in his hands. “I think I need to rethink some... basic principles,” he moaned. 

Vince patted his heaving shoulders. “There, there,” he said comfortingly. 

Howard wailed. “I thought I was saving myself for my one true love!”

Vince felt bad for the man, and kept rubbing at Howard’s shoulders, feeling awkward. He was rubbish in these situations--his instinct was usually to make a joke and attempt to lighten the mood, but he knew Howard would not appreciate him making light of the situation. “Well,” Vince said, a little awkwardly, “in a way, you _have_ saved yourself. You’ve never kissed or spooned or made dramatic declarations of undying love to any of your past partners, so the first time you do any of that...” (he paused, hesitating as he tried to find the right words to comfort Howard without sending him into a deeper state of panic) “... will still be the first time,” he finished lamely. 

Howard looked up at Vince, a little tearfully. His nose was leaking onto his moustache, and he was thankful Vince handed him a tissue, which he promptly blew into with a loud honk while internally cursing the pregnancy hormones for his delicate emotional state. “You really think so?” He was still upset to discover that despite his tightly-held conviction that sex was between a man and a beautiful woman who were in love and engaged to be married (or otherwise committed to a life together) was not true, but the idea that he still had at least _one_ kind of first time left to share with the love of his life comforted him a bit. Just a bit....

Vince chanced a bit of physical comfort and threw an arm over Howard’s broad shoulders. Howard let him. “Sure, big man,” he said. “You’ve saved the most important bits for the most important person. It don’t matter none that you’re not a virgin. The first person you make love with will be the first person you share all that lovey-dovey stuff with.”

Howard buried his face in Vince’s neck and sobbed. 

Vince was kind enough not to complain about Howard getting snot and tears on his expensive top. “There, there, big man,” he soothed, all the while trying to focus more on comforting Howard than the warm feeling he got from holding the bigger man in his arms. Howard had always been there for Vince; now, it was Vince’s turn to take care of Howard. ****

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell we love the Shaman Council? 
> 
> We love kudos and comments--they keep us motivated! And if the comment box isn't enough to contain your love/feedback/questions about this story, you can find us on Tumblr at [@the-stoned-ranger](https://the-stoned-ranger.tumblr.com) and [@bob-skeleton](https://bob-skeleton.tumblr.com). We're weird but friendly, and we meeting new people to talk Boosh with.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon learning that he is not only pregnant with an alien baby but also no longer a virgin, Howard just can't cope. How many sulky showers can one man take before one's best mate is pushed to the brink? Vince is about to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: brief mention of abortion

Upon learning that he was not only no longer a virgin, but also a pregnant man, Howard slipped into a state of fugue.

Howard was not, by nature, a happy person. He tended towards melancholy, as proper Englishmen were wont to do. He liked rainy days and cardigans and jazz ballads, and never turned down the opportunity to indulge in a good sulk. 

Though Howard often luxuriated in self-pity, the fit he spiraled into after those two major revelations, however, made “a good sulk” seem like a day in the park. 

First, there was all the gazing and sighing. Gazing out of windows, gazing at the floor, gazing into the distance… all accompanied by deep, heaving sighs. Then, there were the showers. Howard had always had a tenuous relationship to grooming and hygiene, but lately, he had started taking showers that rivalled even Vince’s most indulgent spa days. He’d shower twice a day, or even more often, lingering under the spray until the water had gone cold, and even then, he’d wallow in the cold water until Vince finally kicked him out. Howard’s usual showers were accompanied by soft scatting. His sadness showers were silent, unless Vince was in the bathroom. Howard then took the opportunity to monologue at length about the futility of existence and how a man _thinks_ he knows himself, but does he _really_ know himself? One time, Vince had walked in on Howard staring blankly at the shower wall with a look that could only be described as Norwegian Grief on his features. To Vince’s horror, the water had gone cold, and Howard had just kept on wallowing, indifferent to the chill. Vince had kicked him out of the shower and rubbed him with towels until the color came back into his skin.

That was another symptom of Howard’s depression: while he’d always been protective of his personal space, lately he was altogether indifferent to touch. Under any other circumstances, Vince would have been thrilled that Howard wasn’t flinching away from physical affection, but there was something unnerving about Howard’s uncharacteristic passivity that made Vince feel uneasy and not a little dirty every time he touched Howard, almost as if he was taking advantage of his friend. Considering the fact that most of Howard’s sexual experiences were less-than-consensual made Vince feel even worse--but not bad enough to stop touching him altogether. Vince tried not to think too much about what that said about him. 

After about ten days of this incessant moping, Vince had had enough. He entered the bedroom one evening after working in the shop alone all day to find Howard still in bed, hair damp from probably another shower, wrapped in a blanket and looking absolutely tragic. “Hey, Howard,” Vince said softly, using the voice he used to coax animals back at the zoo. “That boring documentary about weird Danish art cinema is starting in a few minutes. Why don’t you come out and we’ll put it on?”

A plaintive moan escaped from the pile of blankets. Howard made no move to dress himself, just lay motionless and moping on the bed.

Vince almost sighed, but caught himself lest Howard tried to out-sigh him and the two men got sucked into a sighing contest. He was losing patience with Howard’s self-indulgent despondency--if it went on much longer, Vince was afraid it would infect him too. 

He could understand why Howard was so upset--it had to have been a lot to take, finding out he was not a virgin and pregnant all at once. While Howard was freaked out about the whole “not a virgin” and “pregnant man” thing, Vince couldn’t help but feel a bit excited. He’d always loved babies and children, but had long ago resigned himself to the fact that he was unlikely to ever have one of his own. Vince’s relationships rarely lasted longer than the latest trends. He’d never really stayed with one person long enough to celebrate a one-month anniversary, much less ever consider having kids together. He knew he wasn’t responsible enough to be a single dad, and the people he dated weren’t exactly the parenting type either. 

Howard, on the other hand... well, it was easy to imagine Howard as a father. He’d always taken his responsibilities as a zookeeper seriously, much more so than any of his fellow keepers, going on about how the animals depended on them to make sure that they were fed and healthy and clean. Over their many long years of friendship, Vince had experienced Howard’s parenting skills firsthand--how Howard would bring him soup when he wasn’t well, make sure he was properly dressed for the weather (even if dressing for the weather was extremely unfashionable), the way Howard would do his best to cheer and comfort Vince on the rare occasions he was feeling down. Vince imagined that any child, alien or otherwise, would be lucky to have a father like Howard. 

But Howard didn’t seem like _he_ thought he was lucky to be a daddy. Babies weren’t supposed to make you sad--what could be more joyful than knowing you were bringing a new life into the world, someone who you could love unconditionally and who would love you back? If Howard was _this_ miserable just being pregnant, how much _more_ miserable would he be after he gave birth? Vince shuddered to consider it.

This had gone on long enough. Vince felt a little sick to his stomach for even thinking it, but maybe Howard didn’t _have_ to be a father if he really didn’t _want_ to be one.

Vince cleared his throat. “You know, Howard,” he said, “aren’t you at least a _little_ happy to be having a baby?”

“Happy?” Howard scoffed. “I was probed and impregnated by _aliens_ , Vince! Against my will! And you expect me to be _happy_ about it?”

He sounded positively miserable about it. Even though it broke Vince’s heart a little to suggest it, he knew that he had to, for Howard’s own good. “Maybe Naboo has something, a potion or something, that could help you... get rid of the baby. We could ask him--”

Howard’s head peeked out of the pile of blankets, his hair mussed and his face red and twisted into an angry expression. “Just what are you insinuating, Vince?” he snapped.

“I’m just saying, you know, if you’re not ready to have a baby--then maybe you don’t have to...” Vince stammered.

Howard looked absolutely _appalled_ at the suggestion. “You’re suggesting I… _cast forth_ this… pregnancy?” 

“There ain’t no shame in it,” said Vince lamely. “Plenty of people have... accidents.”

Howard sat up straight in the bed, a look of something _other_ than despondence in his eyes for the first time in days. “Howard Moon is a man of principles, sir. I might not have been expecting to have a baby, but no child of mine could ever be a mere _accident_ , no sir!”

“Well, maybe it’s time you stopped lying about and feeling sorry for yourself, and actually, I don’t know, start acting like a daddy-to-be instead of sulking like a spoiled teenager!” Vince snapped, losing his patience. He’d only been trying to help Howard; he didn’t deserve Howard’s anger. He’d done nothing but indulge Howard lately, letting him listen to all the jazz he wanted to, catering to his every craving, and making sure that Howard didn’t drown himself in the shower. He was elated that Howard wanted to keep the baby, but all the frustrations of the last week or so had reached a boiling point. 

Howard sat looking at Vince, opening and closing his mouth like a guppy, as if he had something to say but wasn’t sure what it was. In all the years they’d known each other, he’d never before seen Vince this furious. Usually it was the other way around--Howard scolding Vince for his immature behavior. He, Howard, had never been on the receiving end. 

Vince scoffed and threw his hands up in a gesture of resignation as he left the room. Howard sat, still ensconced in his blankety cocoon and knew he’d need to suss all of this out. He didn’t like the way Vince’s words had chipped at something inside him. Vince had always been skilled at getting under Howard’s skin, but this was on another level. _Why?_ Why did this bother Howard so much?

He sat gazing thoughtfully into the ether when it struck him: Vince, who was a walking Peter Pan complex if ever there was one, had told _him,_ Howard, to grow up. And he’d been right. 

For years, Howard had played the adult in their relationship. Howard was the one who made sure appliances weren’t left running when they left the house. Howard fueled the car and actually knew how to drive. Howard bought sensible groceries and made sure the bills were paid. And yet, Howard was the one wrapped up like a burrito trying to avoid his problems like a small, frightened child. 

Vince had been the responsible one for the last… how long had it been? Christ, Howard had been so self-absorbed he’d even lost track of the days. But the entire time, Vince had been there, tidying up little messes, bringing Howard cold compresses and tea, dragging Howard bodily from the shower when the water ran cold and his skin had broken out in goose pimples. And what had Howard done? Moped around, feeling sorry for himself.

Yes, a baby would change Howard’s life irrevocably. But instead of running off with his more fashionable friends and leaving Howard to deal with his pregnancy alone, Vince had stayed steadfastly by Howard’s side. Vince could be shallow, immature, and selfish, but he always came through for Howard in the crunch, when he needed it most. A wave of shame hit Howard right in the gut--he was always going on about how he, Howard Moon, was a brave man, a man of action, yet he’d been acting like a coward. 

It was time for Howard to stop wallowing and start _doing_ something about his situation. Howard shrugged the blanket from his shoulders and ran a hand over his stubbled face. A glimpse in the mirror revealed that his facial hair had grown out of control. First things first--Howard needed to get his moustache in order. Once his moustache was properly shaped and trimmed, he could finally begin to deal with his pregnancy the way he ought--like a man. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, but never fear! We'll be increasing our posts to 2x/week, so Chapter 6 should show up soon.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard gets off his ass, grooms his moustache, and gets ready to face life as a single father. Unfortunately, neither he nor his flatmates have any idea what to expect now that he’s expecting. Howard deals with this in a perfectly Howardly way... by taking a trip to the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to littlebooshmaid & radiumkind for their beta work, as always!
> 
> PS: Peep that blatant self-insert! Can you guess who guest stars in this chapter?

Howard Moon emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and shaven. He stroked his moustache contemplatively as he headed to the kitchen, where Vince sat nursing a cup of the sweet, milky tea he favored, frustratedly tearing a scone into tiny pieces.

He plopped into the seat beside Vince and reached for the teapot, about to pour himself a cup of proper English black tea, when Vince interrupted him.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Vince asked snidely. 

“What?” Howard asked, confused. “What’s wrong with tea?”

Vince rolled his eyes. The last couple of weeks had made it painfully obvious that Howard didn’t know _anything_ about babies or pregnancy. Vince may have been raised by animals as a nipper, but he’d been in and out of foster homes after leaving the jungle, and he’d picked up a thing or two over the years. “Don’t you know _anything_? Caffeine’s no good for the baby. Stunts their growth or summat.”

Howard lowered the teapot, out of surprise more than anything else. He bit back the impulse to ask, “And how do _you_ know that?” but remembered he was on a mission of peace. He cleared his throat and simply said, “I didn’t know that. But it seems right. Thank you.” He could tell from the way Vince was sitting and refusing to make eye contact that he was still upset. 

Vince tore another piece of scone, worrying it between his fingers until it crumbled into a pile of crumbs. Sugar always made him feel better, but he was still too angry to have much of an appetite at all. “S’fine. You’re welcome or whatever,” he said, a bit surprised that Howard had taken his advice. 

“Vince,” Howard began, trying to keep his voice soft and level, “I’ve given some thought to what you said. You’re right. I… I may not have wanted this, but it’s happened. I can’t go back and change it. And I don’t want to… terminate anything. I’m going to go through with this. And I want to thank you for all your help. And advice.” He cleared his throat, willing his stupid pregnant hormones to stop causing him to get choked up over this. “I understand if you… y’know… don’t want to--”

Blinking rapidly, Vince cut him off. “I _do_ want to, Howard! More ‘n anything.” He was surprised at how much he meant it. He’d long dreamed of raising a child, but had resigned himself to the fact that his dream was unlikely to be anything more than that. 

For his part, Howard was just as surprised as Vince at the admission. “Oh, um, thank you,” he said stupidly, blinking back a few tears of his own. Damned pregnancy hormones, he cursed silently. 

Luckily, Vince continued so Howard wouldn’t have to. “It’s you and me til the end, innit, Howard?” he asked. “Besides, if you were left alone to dress a baby, you’d give it corduroy nappies.” 

“What’s wrong with corduroy nappies?” Howard asked. “My mum dressed me in corduroy nappies as a nipper, and I turned out just fine.”

Vince chuckled. It was a small, sad thing, but Howard’s tiny eyes creased as he flashed a shy smile. “That explains a lot,” Vince said. “No wonder your fashion sense is so terrible--it must be genetic or something.”

The terrible tension broke as the two men laughed in earnest. Howard reached out to cup Vince’s hand between his own. It was small and soft, the fingernails painted a glittery purple, but when Vince squeezed back, Howard was reminded of the strength Vince possessed beneath his delicate, almost pretty, surface. It felt good, calming even, and Howard knew, without a doubt, that Vince would use every ounce of his strength to care for both Howard and the baby.

Howard flushed, and not because of the pregnancy hormones, either. No, it was something he’d felt before--the same tingling, electric heat that he’d felt after he and Vince had kissed on the roof after the shameful, awful birthday party Vince had thrown for him. It hadn’t been the first time, nor even the last time, that he’d felt that way, but it had been the only time he’d acknowledged what it meant: he cared for Vince, and not just as a friend.

But Howard stifled the uncomfortable awareness just as quickly as he’d stifled the emotion in the past. He didn’t want to ruin the fragile truce he and Vince had reached by confessing his feelings, especially not after what had happened the last time, when Vince had mocked him for falling for anyone who showed him even the smallest scrap of kindness. Loath as Howard was to admit it, Vince had had a point, and Howard was a pregnant mess of confusing emotions right now. There was no hope that Vince would take him seriously, considering the circumstances.

Vince disentangled their hands first, and wiped up the mess of scone crumbs. “I’ll make you a herbal tea if you want,” he offered, and set about doing just that. He placed a plate of non-shredded scones before Howard with a meaningful look. “Eat,” he commanded. “You’re eating for two now.” And Vince smiled so happily that Howard couldn’t help but feel happy too, for the first time since the entire ordeal had taken place. Somehow, hearing Vince say those words out loud and in the open air made them _real._ He really _was_ eating for two. There was a life, a being, inside him and it had taken him this long to fully actualize that fact. 

Howard didn’t think he’d ever enjoyed scones so much before in his life. 

As Howard munched his way through the plate of scones, Vince rummaged in the cupboards, searching for herbal tea. After several minutes of unearthing nothing but Naboo’s herbal tinctures, every one of them containing some sort of nefarious psychoactive substance, he gave up. “I dunno, Howard,” he sighed, “I’m not sure any of these herbal teas are safe to drink.”

“Hmm?” Howard inquired around a mouthful of scone. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Well,” Vince shrugged, “they’re _Naboo’s_.”

Howard grimaced. Knowing Naboo’s fondness for the kind of herbs that got you high, he wasn’t sure he wanted to take the chance. After all, he had a baby to consider. “It’s all right, little man,” Howard said. “We should probably do the shopping today. We’re almost out of blueberry jam and pickles, after all.”

Vince tried not to gag. “That sounds good, Howard,” he lied. Howard’s pregnancy cravings were gross, but Vince had promised himself that he would do whatever it took to make sure that Howard--and Howard’s baby--had everything they needed during the pregnancy, and after. Vince had every intention of making sure that Howard and the baby would have everything they needed, for as long as they needed him around.

Over the next several days, Howard dedicated himself to the business of being a pregnant man. It became increasingly obvious that he did not have the first clue about pregnancy and babies.

He’d grown up as an only child in a small family. Both of his parents had been only children, so he hadn’t even had any younger cousins to interact with when he’d been a kid. And since the neighborhood where Howard had grown up had been mostly populated by retirees, it wasn’t as if he’d had much of a chance to learn about babies from the neighbors. 

Vince, on the other hand, seemed to know a lot about babies and children, but since he’d been raised by dangerous animals in the jungle, he had some weird ideas about parenting. For one thing, Howard was skeptical that it was a good idea to feed an infant raw antelope meat, especially raw antelope meat that you’d chewed and spat directly into their mouth. It seemed well unsanitary, but Vince was insistent.

“I’m tellin’ you, Howard, it’s good for the baby! Builds up their immune system, you know.”

Howard raised a brow. “Seems more like a good way to get parasites,” he scoffed.

“Now that you mention it, I had a tapeworm one time, a big one! We were good friends, I was sad when my foster family made me get rid of him.” Vince’s eyes took on a faraway look as he lost himself in the happy childhood memory while Howard did his best not to be sick.

Naboo wasn’t much help either. “Tapeworms aren’t a big deal,” Naboo added. “If the kid gets worms, just feed him a bunch of magic mushrooms. The worms will trip their balls off and get the hell out. And if the mushrooms don’t work, we can always do an exorcism.”

While he was arguably the most qualified medical professional on Earth when it came to male pregnancy, Howard was pretty certain that Naboo’s particular brand of herbal medicine and spiritual remedies would not be accepted as legitimate medical treatments by the authorities. Asking the rest of the Shaman for help didn’t even warrant considering. 

Howard wondered if Bollo knew anything about child-rearing, but upon recalling his stories about Chinquo, decided it was best not to ask and lumped him into the “potentially useful in an emergency but otherwise do not regard” category with Naboo. 

It was settled--Howard needed to do some research. He shot Vince a meaningful look. “Vince? Do you still have that library suit?”

“‘Course, Howard,” Vince answered, with an air that implied _of course I have it, you berk, librarian-chic always cycles through trendiness._ “I made it just for you, and you said it was pretty good.” 

Howard’s heart clenched at the fact that Vince had held onto something solely because he, Howard, had given it a half-hearted compliment. “Dig it out, and get the spare change out of Bollo’s slippers. We’re going to the library!” 

Twenty minutes later, Howard had donned the tweed library suit, pockets bursting with loose change, library card tucked securely in its special pocket. Vince followed behind him, looking oddly nervous. Howard rhapsodized at length about the value of the library system, the importance of true democracy, literacy expanding the mind, etc. All Vince could think of was the mean librarian he’d encountered as a child, newly come to London, who’d scolded him until he cried when he took _Harold and the Purple Crayon_ as a how-to manual rather than a fictional story. 

At last the pair stood on the stone steps of the old gray building. Vince could feel a rash coming on. Howard had that crazed gleam in his eye he got when looking at vintage records or office supply stores. Without speaking, Howard marched in and Vince followed, reluctantly, in his wake. 

The library was still and quiet, which made Howard ecstatic and Vince nervous. Howard strode confidently to the main circulation desk, and was taken aback to find a young-ish man sitting there. In his mind, librarians emerged fully formed as sensibly dressed women between the ages of 40 and 80. The young man glanced up from his computer and greeted them. Howard cleared his throat. “Yes, hello. I believe I have some overdue fines.”

“Okay, let me take a look. Do you have your card?” Howard handed the bearded librarian his library card. “Oh,” said the librarian. “Just a minor fine. Two euros.” 

“That’s it?” Vince asked. 

“Yes,” replied the guybrarian. Vince sighed and rolled his eyes, visibly relieved.

“Christy, Howard, I thought you’d have racked up more’n that.” Vince gave the librarian a cheeky grin, and got a small smile in return. _This isn’t so bad,_ Vince thought. 

Howard paid his fine, then steeled himself for the next part in this adventure. “Would you be able to tell me where to find... certain... books?”

“Certainly,” replied the librarian. 

“Well, it’s, erm…” Howard stumbled, his cheeks flushing. He could feel the chokes coming on. _How creepy am I going to look asking for the pregnancy section,_ he thought to himself. “It’s just, er, we’re… that is, I’m looking for…” 

The librarian sat listening to this incoherent babbling as though it was something he was used to doing all day every day. 

“We need books on pregnancy,” Vince cut in. 

“Oh, sure,” said the librarian. He wrote a number on a slip of paper. 

“My sister is expecting,” said Howard, a little louder than he would have liked. 

The librarian looked nonplussed by this information. He handed Howard and Vince the slip of paper. “That’ll be over to your left, the fourth shelf down. If you need anything else, ask.” 

“Cheers,” said Vince grinning. He was absolutely off his tits with schadenfreude at Howard’s discomfort, especially because this was one of Howard’s “safe places” (along with Lester Corncrake’s, the used vinyl record shop, and The Beige Emporium). Vince bobbed happily alongside Howard as they made their way to the appropriate shelves. 

“That was brilliant, Howard, _your sister_. D’you really think he bought that, even for a minute?”

“Shut up, Vince,” Howard scolded. “This is a library. You have to be quiet.” 

Vince made a point of creeping along on tiptoe just to annoy Howard. 

Howard felt the adrenaline start to recede as he found the shelf of pregnancy books. Libraries had a smell to them, a bookish smell, slightly musty, that he found comforting. Even in the midst of all the turmoil in his life, books had never disappointed him. He scanned the titles, ranging from _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_ to _Things Your Doctor Won’t Tell You About Childbirth._ He could be here a while. 

Vince sighed dramatically before whining, “Howard.” 

Howard pressed a finger to his lips and shushed Vince dramatically. “Shh.”

Vince seemed more amused by Howard’s librarian impression than anything. “Howard,” he stage-whispered, grinning mischievously. 

“What, Vince?”

“Which is faster: fire or dust?” 

Now Howard sighed so loudly that a passing librarian shushed _him_. It figured that Vince was the one making a racket, but _Howard_ was the one being scolded. He stifled another sigh, this time at the unfairness of the universe. “Vince, why don’t you go look at the art books, or the children’s section.” 

Vince’s eyes lit up. “Genius! I wonder if they have that book about the nipper with the purple crayon.” 

Vince wandered around aimlessly, getting distracted by a table full of puzzles that reminded him of the jigsaw times, until his eye was caught by bright purple and lime green paint. He figured the children’s section must be there. Vince entered a small alcove room, thrilled to find that the bright color palette extended into it. Stuffed animals sat atop the shelves that lined the room. There were even toys, and a tent full of pillows set up in the corner of the room. Vince’s eyes were wide with wonder. _Now THIS is a library!_

Vince stalked slowly throughout the room, taking in the bright colors and cheerful toys. The shelves were loaded with colorful picture books. So enraptured was he that he completely missed the librarian working in the room. “Can I help you?” she asked. 

Vince started a little. “Who’re you?”

“The children’s librarian.” She eyed Vince suspiciously, leery of grown men lingering around the children’s room, and repeated the question. “Can I help you?” 

Vince gulped. The last children’s librarian he’d encountered had been old and mean, and he’d hated her. He gave this one a once-over. She had a friendly smile, if slightly mistrustful eyes, and had blue highlights in her hair. _Genius,_ thought Vince. 

“Do you have that book about the nipper with the purple crayon?”

The librarian’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you mean Harold? Yeah, over here, it’s one of my favorites!” 

Vince watched the little librarian walk over to the shelf and pull the book right off. “That’s amazing! Do you know where all the books are?”

“Most of the ones in this room, yeah.” The librarian figured the sparkly electro-poof probably meant no harm--lots of adults came into the children’s section for pure nostalgia. She grinned at the stranger’s wide-eyed wonder. 

“Could you help me find some others? Are grown-ups allowed to read in the tent?” Vince asked, breathless with excitement.

“As long as there’s no one else in there… absolutely,” she replied with a wink. 

Vince dove into the cozy tent, settling himself among the fluffy pillows and stuffed dragon he found inside. He decided the children’s section was _well genius._

About forty-five minutes later, Howard had a nice stack of books to check out and already felt more educated and prepared to face fatherhood. He stood up from his spot in front of the shelves and stretched, wondering where Vince had gone off to. He’d found a foldable tote bag in one of the pockets of the library suit (another ingenious idea), and carefully placed his books in it as he went off in search of Vince. 

Following the trail of bright colors, Howard found himself inside the children’s room. It appeared to be empty, but there were voices coming from a tent in the corner. A tent indoors seemed wrong to Howard, and his opinion on the matter of tents indoors was not improved any when he heard Vince’s voice mingling with another, female, voice.

For chrissakes. Was Vince getting off with a girl _in the children’s room of the library?_ Had the man no shame?

Howard approached the tent, his own anger battling the urge to cry. _Damned hormones!_ he cursed, feeling a bit relieved that he could blame his illogical reaction on biology instead of actually having to examine his emotions. As he got closer to the tent, Howard realized there was no flap to act as a door, so he peered cautiously inside and prepared to give Vince a piece of his mind about the impropriety of getting off with strange women in a children’s library. 

Whatever he had expected to find in there, it wasn’t _this:_ Vince sat huddled on one side of the tent, completely wrapped around what appeared to be a stuffed animal of some sort. A squat blue-haired lady sat across from Vince, who appeared to be reading to him as if he was a child--slowly, enunciating each word, and making sure he had time to see the pictures. 

As soon as Vince noticed Howard, his face lit up. “Howard! Look at this! I love the library.” 

The blue-haired librarian flashed Howard a bashful smile as she crawled out of the tent. “I better get back to work. Nice to meet you, Vince!” She grinned and walked off to her desk at the other side of the room. Howard crawled into the tent with Vince. 

“What are you doing?” Howard asked, his anger replaced with curiosity. 

Vince looked up at him and smiled. “Well, the librarian helped me find all my old favorites, and she was reading them to me. She was really nice, her name is Bobbi. But look, Howard!” Vince proudly held up a book. Its illustrations were familiar, but Howard had never read it. “It’s one of my all-time favorites, I remember every word.” 

“I’ve never read it,” Howard said. 

Vince looked appalled. “Never? Get comfy, Howard, we’re reading this right now.”

“In the children’s reading nook? Are you mad?” 

Vince was nonplussed by Howard’s reaction. “‘Course in here, it’s cozy. Can you see the pictures?” Howard rolled his eyes, but scooched closer to Vince so he was practically leaning into him. This close, Howard couldn’t help but notice how… _nice_ this was: he and Vince cozy in a tent (happily _not_ in the Arctic this time), sitting so closely that Howard could not ignore Vince’s utterly sweet scent as Vince genuinely smiled at him and read in his low, quiet, voice, “ _Where the Wild Things Are_ , by Maurice Sendak.” 

Halfway through, Howard wasn’t sure how he’d never read this book before. He’d laughed at the wild rumpus, ruffling Vince’s hair and calling him King of the Wild Things. By the time they’d reached the end, both their eyes were misty, and Howard had wrapped Vince in a hug, holding him tight to his chest. He was so, so lucky to have Vince in his life, and their child was going to be so lucky to have him, too. 

_Their_ child. 

The thought took Howard by surprise--or rather, he was surprised at how natural it was to consider Vince as a co-parent for the baby. He’d figured that Vince would help him raise the child, but this was the first time that Howard had consciously acknowledged that fact, and Howard was gripped with an overwhelming feeling of tenderness for his friend. When he wiped a tear from his eye on the sleeve of his library suit, he blamed the pregnancy hormones. Again. 


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abandoned by the Uranians who impregnated him, Howard must figure out how to provide for his child. The Shaman Council helps in their usual unorthodox fashion. Also, there is pining and a sexy foot massage that goes wrong before anyone gets off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Cot” is British for “crib”. Who knew? We certainly didn’t. Thanks, LittleBooshMaid!
> 
> Also this chapter is inspired by the Beck song [“Sexx Laws”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IQfwgzoiq4c). Watch the video, it’s Boosh-tastic!
> 
> Everything we know about the law comes from "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" and "Legally Blonde". We're not actual lawyers, but we do know an awful lot about Sex Law.

Howard sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by several piles of books on pregnancy and parenting as he hunched over a calculator into which he was frantically typing numbers. He scowled at the resulting figure and sighed.

“Whatcha doin’ Howard?” Vince asked, looking up from the notepad he was covering in doodles of Howard cradling a tiny alien baby. Howard wanted to scold him (he was supposed to be helping Howard with their household budget), but he was so endeared by the little drawings that he couldn’t quite make himself.

“It just doesn’t add up,” Howard groaned. His recent research had led to the discovery that babies needed a lot of things that cost money, things like cots and nappies and baby monitors. “Babies are well expensive! And they grow up into children, which are even more expensive than babies! How are we supposed to support a child on our wages, when we can barely support ourselves?”

Vince bit his lip and fidgeted with his pencil. He wanted to comfort Howard, but for all Vince knew about pregnancy and raising children, he was utterly terrible with money and useless at budgeting. He hadn’t even considered the fact that raising a child would cut into his fashion spending, and he wrinkled his nose at the idea that he might have to start wearing the same outfit more than once. 

He leaned over, sneaking a peek at Howard’s paper. “How bad is it?” he asked. Howard showed him the resulting sum. Vince might not have known much about money, but he knew that negative money was _not good._

“Maybe we could ask Naboo for a rise? Or take on weekend shifts?” Howard mused and stroked his moustache, deep in thought. Even as he said it, the sensible part of Howard’s brain knew the shop didn’t make enough money to support two humans, a Shaman, and his familiar. Working in the shop was a formality, a bit of performance art put on by Vince and Howard in exchange for the cheap rent and, Howard supposed, whatever entertainment and companionship Naboo got from living with him and Vince. He didn’t know what the store was a front for, exactly, but he figured the bulk of Naboo’s income came from other, less legal, sources. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Howard! Working on _weekends?”_ Vince scoffed. It didn’t even rate considering--all the best parties happened on the weekends. “And what happens after the baby is born? You’ll need to take some time off for maternity leave.”

“ _Paternity_ leave,” Howard corrected.

Vince rolled his eyes. “Maternity, paternity, whatever.” Pregnant Howard was no less pedantic than non-pregnant Howard. 

“We need to do _something,_ ” Howard insisted. “Maybe even get a _real_ job, with benefits, like in an office or something.”

Vince cringed. That sounded _terrible_ \--he’d have to cut his hair, wear boring suits, and show up to work on time. The thought made his skin start itching, like a jazz rash, only with _work._ “I can’t do that, Howard. Please, please, don’t make me.” 

At that moment Bollo and Naboo and the rest of the Shaman entered the kitchen in a cloud of fragrant smoke, presumably to gather “supplies” for their evening. Bollo grunted at Howard. “What you forcing Vince to do now, Harold?”

“I’m not _forcing_ Vince to do anything,” Howard protested. “If he wants to be involved in this baby’s life, he’s going to need to provide for it! Babies cost _money_ , you know. Nappies and childcare don’t just grow on trees!”

“They don’t?” Naboo asked, confused. “Earth is weird. On Xooberon, trees babysit children all the time.”

“And another thing,” Howard started, having worked himself into a fit of pique. “ _Why_ are _they_ always here?” He motioned towards the rest of the Shaman Council. 

“Oh, isn’t that nice?” stated Saboo. “Roll out the welcome wagon, Naboo, I feel _really_ at home.” 

“Simple,” shrugged Kirk. “Naboo has the best drugs.” 

Nonplussed by the sudden appearance of Magic Men in his kitchen, Vince offered plaintively as an aside to Naboo, “Howard said I’d have to work in an office.” 

“Vince precious flower, can’t work in office. He wilt and die,” growled Bollo. 

Howard sighed in frustration--why did nobody else see that this was a problem? “Well, someone’s going to have to do _something!”_ cried Howard in desperation. “We can’t afford this baby if we keep on at the rate we’re going.” 

“Wait, is this your way of asking for a pay rise?” Naboo deadpanned. 

“Oh, that is an outrage!” cried Tony Harrison. “At least have the balls to do it properly, lad!” 

Howard let his head droop onto the table in frustration and despair. He regretted it immediately. “Ouch!” he cried, rubbing at the offending bump on his forehead.

Vince immediately headed to the freezer for some ice. “You don’t have to hurt yourself, Howard,” he admonished as he prepared an icepack, which he pressed to Howard’s forehead. “That’s gonna bruise.”

Howard let Vince fuss over him, but it didn’t stop the unsettled, panicky feeling he got when he thought about their finances. 

The Shaman watched the little domestic scene unfold, seeming altogether too amused by Howard and Vince’s distress. Naboo clucked his tongue. “I don’t know why you’re freaking out,” Naboo said. “You know that the Council and I have a successful _side business_ on the black market.”

Vince’s eyes went wide with shock. “You do?” Howard wanted to slap him for being so dense. 

“Extremely lucrative and entirely tax-free,” Kirk offered, “considering it’s completely illegal.” 

“We set aside a small annual allotment for charity and supporting causes we believe in,” Dennis added proudly. “After much consideration, we’ve decided the Earth-Uranus Breeding Program is something we _definitely_ want to sponsor.” 

“I disagree,” Saboo objected. “Why are we spending our hard-earned dirty money on these two, who couldn’t empty piss out of a boot if the instructions were written on the heel, when the Uranians should be paying child support for their bastard progeny?”

“For once, I am in total agreement with my colleague here,” Tony Harrison added, gesturing a tentacle towards Saboo. “It’s not on, kidnapping people’s innocent pets and breeding them without their consent. It’s an outrage!”

There was _that_ word again. Howard groaned, experiencing an unpleasant flashback to the night he’d spent getting probed by an Uranian fucking machine. “Have you ever been to Uranus?” he asked Tony Harrison.

“I get around, Tom Selleck,” he said, waggling his nonexistent eyebrows suggestively at Howard. Vince did not like the way Tony Harrison was eyeing Howard. 

“That explains... a lot of things,” Howard muttered.

“So wait,” Vince said, visually piecing this information together. “Does that mean you’ll help us pay for the child? I don’t have to wear suits?”

“You wearing anything but skintight jumpsuits is a crime against the multiverse,” said Tony Harrison, shifting his hungry gaze towards Vince, who grimaced and attempted to cover himself from Tony Harrison’s covetous eyes.

“Now, understand that under normal circumstances, I would leave you two to rot in a life of poverty and despair,” Saboo said. “But considering the alternative is _these_ ballbags” (here he aimed a pointed glance at the rest of the shaman council) “subsidizing your useless lives and that of your equally useless half-alien, half-human progeny with _our_ hard-earned cash, I feel obliged to offer you my services as a scholar of intergalactic legal matters.”

“That’s very, er, kind of you,” Howard said.

“Mind you, it will cost a pretty penny,” Saboo said. “But the Uranians will be entirely responsible for all legal fees incurred, considering the wealth they have accrued by selling radioactive uranium isotopes to power-hungry regimes developing nuclear programs...”

“Yeah, what he said,” added Tony Harrison, nodding towards Saboo. “He and I’ll go after them like a couple of sharks. I’m well-educated in Sex Law.” 

“Objection! There is no such thing as sex law, you pink tentacled cretin!” Saboo scoffed.

“I think under Article 2, Section C, Paragraph 69, in the _Book of Intergalactic Law_ you’ll find there most certainly is. Objection overruled, you bellend!” 

“It is settled, then,” Dennis said, looking satisfied with himself for his leadership skills. “You, Saboo, and Tony Harrison, will work together to ensure that the Uranians fulfill their legally-mandated financial obligations to Howard’s child.”

“Filibuster!” cried Tony Harrison, apropos of absolutely nothing.

“Do you even know what that word means?” Saboo asked. 

“‘Course I do, it’s legalese.” Thankfully, Dennis took this opportunity to herd the Shaman back into the fragrant sanctuary of Naboo’s room before Tony Harrison could expound on his mastery of legal terms. 

“You really mean it, Naboo?” Vince asked his Shaman friend quietly. “You’ll help pay for the baby?”

“It’s been decided. The Council has spoken. Now leave off or I’ll have to turn my back on you,” Naboo said. With that, he and Bollo joined the rest of the Council, leaving Howard and Vince vastly relieved, speechless, and alone with a pad full of useless calculations and doodles. 

The next evening, Howard dragged himself up the stairs, each step feeling like a Herculean task to be vanquished. He was _so_ tired, and his feet ached awfully. He figured it was the extra weight he was carrying, coupled with hormones and general energy-leaching effect brought about by growing a new life inside one’s own body. Then he felt guilty for blaming the baby, who was innocent in all of this, then felt cross at himself for having so _many_ feelings, then plopped himself onto the couch, utterly worn out. He laid his arm over his eyes and propped his sore legs on the arm of the sofa and listened as Vince took the stairs two by two, whistling Bowie as he went. Howard was half asleep and vaguely aware of the sound of puttering in the kitchen as he imagined Vince was making tea. 

Sure enough, within moments the kettle whistled, and he heard Vince approach. 

Howard accepted the steaming cup of tea gratefully. Then he took a sip and grimaced--it was another one of those herbal blends Vince was always forcing on him these days. Some of them weren’t too bad, but this one tasted like boiled grass. “Ugh,” Howard griped, “what I wouldn’t do for a cup of proper Yorkshire tea.”

Vince clucked his tongue and settled next to Howard on the couch, lifting Howard’s legs into his lap. “You _know_ you’re not supposed to be drinking caffeine,” he scolded.

“I know,” Howard sighed. “Not until the baby’s born. You remind me often enough.”

“That’s ‘cause you complain about it often enough,” Vince said. “C’mon, drink up! It’s chamomile. ‘Sposed to be relaxing.”

Howard hated relaxing, and he _especially_ hated chamomile. However, he forced himself to take another sip of the stuff, just to make Vince happy, as he stretched his aching legs. “I don’t need to relax,” he griped, “I just need to sit down for a bit. My feet hurt something awful from standing all day at work.”

A thoughtful expression flickered over Vince’s features. He reached over Howard’s legs to place his teacup on the coffee table, the china saucer clinking against the wood. “Just relax, Howard,” Vince said soothingly. He reached for Howard’s feet and quietly undid his shoelaces, slipping the shoes off and setting them on the floor. Biting his lip nervously, he slowly, carefully, started to rub Howard’s feet. 

He was shocked when Howard replied not with, “Don’t touch me,” but a soft sigh of relief. The sound of it did _things_ to Vince. Mostly to his penis. 

He’d been trying to ignore just how well pregnancy suited his friend. Sure, pregnancy made Howard sweatier and moodier than usual, but it also made his hair thicker and his skin clearer. If Vince looked closely enough, he could see the soft swell of Howard’s belly, still small, but undeniably growing fuller as the weeks passed. It excited him in ways that had little to do with the excitement Vince felt about the baby, and more to do with the excitement he felt between his legs.

Vince shook his head, trying to clear his mind before his thoughts took a more erotic turn, and pressed his fingertips into the arch of Howard’s foot. He must have hit on an especially tender spot, because Howard _moaned_ , and Vince had to shift surreptitiously to prevent Howard from noticing the effect the sound had on him. It didn’t stop him from trying to make Howard make that sound again.

As for Howard, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched like this. Vince’s hands were strong yet gentle. His fingers seemed to know exactly where Howard’s feet ached the most, stretching and kneading the sore muscles, melting the tension away as if by magic. Howard had tried to have a massage exactly once in his life, but hadn’t been able to relax because the sheer volume of candles in the room had been, frankly, alarming and also terribly hazardous. His anxiety had gotten the better of him, and he’d left the room even more tense than he’d entered it. Being prodded a stranger in a room full of fire hazards was not Howard Moon’s cup of tea. 

But then, Vince wasn’t a stranger. Vince was… he wasn’t sure what to call Vince, anymore. “Friends” seemed too inconsequential for a pair of people raising a baby together. “Partners” sounded like they were married, and they weren’t _that_. “Co-parents” sounded like they’d divorced, which was impossible as they’d never been married in the first place. “Couple” sounded like they were romantically involved and/or fucking. They were neither of those things. 

Not that Howard hadn’t thought about it. 

In fact, after The Kiss at his disastrous birthday party last year, Howard hadn’t thought of much else. He could wank himself to completion in mere minutes replaying those brief moments when Vince’s hands had gripped his hair and caressed his neck as his hot tongue prodded at Howard’s lips and snuck into his mouth. Just the thought of it now was making him hard. Well… the thought of The Kiss coupled with whatever massage voodoo Vince was performing on his feet. 

Vince’s fingers crept up the arch of Howard’s foot, and Howard unsuccessfully tried to stifle the contented sighs and moans that were spilling from his lips as easily as jazz scat. For all that he disliked being touched, Howard was skin-starved. He’d pushed people away so successfully that his body ached to be held close or caressed, even if his mind rebelled at the idea. At his core, Howard wanted to be cared for. And Vince _had_ been taking such wonderful care of him the last few weeks.... 

But none of it compared to the feeling of Vince’s hands as they tenderly cradled Howard’s feet, soothing the sore muscles and melting away the pain and tension, leaving another ache in their wake: Howard ached to be touched, and not just where it hurt, but in all the places it could feel good. He imagined Vince’s hands skirting past his ankles, up his calves, and along his thighs until they reached the place Howard ached the most... 

The thought made an especially deep moan escape from between Howard’s lips. He bit down against it, the sudden, sharp pain of his canine digging into his lip bringing him back to reality.

Vince was staring up at him with a look of concern. “I’m not hurting you, am I, Howard?” he asked, his voice soft and full of something that made Howard’s chest ache just as much as his cock. 

“N-no,” Howard breathed, trying desperately to get himself under control. “Just--sensitive.” 

“You’d tell me if I was hurting you, right?” Vince asked, fingers gently trailing along the ball of Howard’s foot. “‘Cause I want you to feel good, not hurt you--”

“You’re not hurting me,” Howard interrupted. “You could _never_ hurt me.” Howard had never been so certain of anything in his life. Sure, Vince had hurt his feelings, more times that either of them could count, but it seemed unfathomable that Vince’s touch could bring Howard anything but pleasure. While Howard had always been uncomfortable with physical contact, Vince’s touch, unlike that of anyone else, had never caused him discomfort or pain. Perhaps that was why Howard had always protested _Don’t touch me!_ whenever Vince tried to touch him--it felt _too_ good, too confusing, too _much._

Vince grinned, and returned to his task of massaging Howard’s feet, grasping each of Howard’s toes between his thumb and index finger and gently pulling. Howard groaned, and resolved to never say “don’t touch me” to Vince again. He’d been an idiot to resist so much pleasure for so long. 

Unaware of Howard’s inner monologue, Vince concentrated on working the aches and pains out of Howard’s feet. His hands were working on autopilot; instead, Vince was watching Howard’s face, the way his eyes scrunched whenever his fingers found an especially tender spot, the way that Howard bit his lip as he attempted to keep silent, though he was not able to suppress the little moans and noises of pleasure. Each one made Vince’s chest and cock jump with the knowledge that _he_ was the one wringing them out of his usually-reserved best friend.

Vince warmed with pride, loving the knowledge that _he_ was the one who’d gotten Howard to relax and let go to this extent. An overwhelming desire coursed through him--he wanted to make Howard come undone. Imagining it--Howard’s hair rumpled, his cheeks flushed, all that creamy skin laid bare--coupled with the absolutely _filthy_ noises Howard was making made Vince lightheaded with desire. 

Vince worked his fingers up Howard’s foot, moving to the sore muscles of his ankles. Howard gave a breathy little sigh, and something in Vince snapped. He didn’t care anymore, and decided to take the risk. Slowly, holding his breath, he clasped his fingertips around Howard’s ankle, gently lifting Howard’s foot to his pursed lips--

Despite his earlier vow to accept Vince’s touch, Howard panicked. In his attempt to free his ankle from Vince’s grasp, he kicked a little too hard, his heel catching Vince on his prominent nose.

Immediately, Vince let go of Howard’s foot, his hands reaching up to protect him nose from another kick. “Oi!” he grumbled, his voice coming out all nasal. “What did you do that for?”

“S-sorry,” Howard stuttered, turning red with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to!” It was true--

He hadn’t _meant_ to kick Vince, especially not in his nose, especially considering how sensitive Vince was about how bumpy and beaky his nose was; he’d only been trying to prevent Vince from doing something that Howard was sure the both of them would regret. How could it have ended in anything other than embarrassment and shame, when their last kiss had ended so disastrously?

Vince glared. He’d been so sure that Howard had been enjoying the massage just as much as he had. He’d spent _years_ studying Howard’s expressions (which was a necessary skill, considering how repressed Howard was); it seemed unfathomable that he could have misjudged the look of bliss and longing on Howard’s face. “My nose is _already_ ugly, and you’ve gone and made it worse!”

Apologizing again, Howard jumped to his feet. “Let me get you some ice for that, little man,” he said awkwardly. As he made his way to the kitchen to make good on his promise, he noticed that it no longer hurt to walk. The massage really _had_ helped, and Howard had messed it all up by kicking Vince in the face. How was he ever going to convince Vince to give him another after he’d gone and ruined everything in typical Howard Moon fashion?

Just in case, he made sure to bring Vince a package of wine gums along with the ice. Vince accepted both the treats and the compress graciously, though he still sulked for the rest of the evening. Luckily, the swelling went down and Vince’s nose soon returned to its former, beaky glory. 

“Next time I give you a foot massage, I’m going to have to tie you down first,” Vince grumbled as he examined himself in the mirror the following morning. 

“Whatever you say, little man,” Howard said, ignoring the traitorous thrill the threat incited in him. He was happy that there would be a next time, and more than a little curious to see whether Vince made good on his promise. “Whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The UST intensifies.... get ready for like 10 more chapters of this shit. Don't worry, we promise it will be worth it.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard and Vince grow ever closer--and also hornier. Howard struggles with the effects of his pregnancy hormones while Vince realizes something about himself: he may have a THING for pregnant Howard. Also, the boys travel to Xooberon to discuss Howard’s paternity suit against the Uranians.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sconge" is a tragically underused Britishism for "boner".
> 
> There's some wanking but not mutual. Rated M.
> 
> Thanks as always to BooshMaid and Radiumkind, our faithful betas, for keeping it real.

The weeks passed, and Howard grew ever more pregnant. He was surprised to realize that the all-consuming feeling of dread that had absorbed him during the early weeks of his pregnancy had diminished to the point that he was actually kind of _enjoying_ being pregnant. He was still sweaty, and tired, and his feet and back ached constantly, but it was kind of nice to eat whatever he wanted without worrying about the consequences, especially as he’d always been prone to gaining weight if he wasn’t diligent about his diet. 

And then there was the fact that Vince had begun fawning over Howard since he’d discovered he was pregnant. It reminded Howard of the zoo times, when Vince had regarded Howard with naked admiration. Ever since they’d left the zoo, Vince had gotten caught up in his glamorous new life and glamorous new friends, and had treated Howard as a minor annoyance, their friendship as something to be ashamed of instead of celebrated. Howard couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the attention: Vince running out at all hours to make sure Howard’s cravings were fulfilled, no matter how strange; Vince giving him foot massages whenever Howard complained of aches and pains. He didn’t even complain about Howard’s morning sickness interfering with his ability to primp and preen and style his hair, and perhaps most surprisingly of all, Vince had actually started showing up to his shifts at the Nabootique (almost) on time, and doing actual work when he was there. 

Just after the 3 month mark, Howard’s belly popped. He’d been gaining weight steadily, most of it admittedly going to his middle, but all of a sudden, he developed a proper bump, firm and round and unlike the steady thickening of the waist area that he’d experienced thus far.

Howard stood in the middle of their shared bedroom, shirtless and staring at himself in one of Vince’s many full-length mirrors, his hands cradling his belly as he stared at his reflection. A feeling of silent wonder settled over him. Somehow, the bump made the pregnancy feel more real than anything else that had happened over the last few months. 

He pressed his hands against his stomach as if waiting for a response. The books had mentioned that he was unlikely to feel the baby kick until the fifth month, yet Howard was hopeful that he would feel _something_. However, the baby remained stubbornly still. Despite himself, Howard sighed with disappointment.

The door slammed behind him. “Whatcha doin’, Howard?” Vince chirped. He’d recently begun waking up early to serve Howard breakfast in bed, and was carrying a tray with tea and blueberry scones, Howard’s favorite, as blueberries had been one of his most persistent cravings. “I got you a new tea, rooibos and ginger root--the lady at the shop said it was good for pregnancy, full of antitoxicants and the ginger is supposed to help with the morning sickness...”

Vince’s chatter trailed off as he glanced at Howard and realized that his roommate was half-naked in the middle of their shared bedroom. He almost dropped the tea tray, but managed to place it on the nightstand with a terrific clatter and minimal spillage. 

Howard turned to his shocked friend. “Look,” he murmured, gesturing towards his rounded belly.

Vince looked, his eyes going directly to Howard’s stomach. Howard had developed a bit of a paunch since they’d left the zoo--working in a shop was much more sedentary than shoveling dung and chasing down llamas on a hoofing rampage--but this was _different_. Howard had a proper pregnancy belly, firm and round, and Vince couldn’t stop staring. He flushed, his cheeks and ears burning, but not from embarrassment--no, Vince was undoubtedly _aroused_ by the sight of Howard, standing shirtless and visibly pregnant and wholly unselfconscious in their room.

“Can I--” Vince asked, his voice gone all gravelly. He paused to clear his throat, then tried again. “Can I-- _touch_?”

Howard looked startled at first, but then he nodded, a serious expression on his face.

Vince placed his open palms on Howard’s stomach. The skin was warm and taut under his hands, not at all soft and squishy like Howard’s middle usually felt. He traced the swell of Howard’s belly, up and down, slowly, as if to memorize the shape of it. 

Howard didn’t flinch away, nor did he try to shrug off Vince’s hands. He stood, silent and smiling, letting Vince touch as much as he wanted.

Vince didn’t think he’d ever have enough. He’d had a bit of a crush on his best friend back in the day, but he’d (mostly) gotten over it when it became clear that Howard could barely stand even the most platonic physical signs of affection. While Vince occasionally _noticed_ Howard in a non-platonic way, he’d rarely ever acted on his attraction, as Howard had always barked “Don’t touch me!” at the most innocent physical contact, and acted utterly confused when Vince tried to flirt with him.

Yet all of Vince’s suppressed feelings swelled and crashed like a wave the instant he’d laid his hands on Howard’s belly. Sure, Vince had had lovers before, but they’d always been skinny, fashionable types like himself (excepting the rare Howard lookalike and that one regrettable encounter with Harold Boon). Howard had always had a solidness, a substantialness, to him that Vince’s former partners all lacked, but the pregnancy had made him even more so--and Vince was surprised at how much he liked it.

Normally, a big belly would be a turnoff for Vince, who had never tried to hide his preference for the trendily slim, but Vince thought Howard looked better than ever like this. He swallowed, cradling the bottom of Howard’s bump in his cupped hands, mind racing with ever more lurid images of Howard growing bigger, swelling with the life growing inside of him. A hiss of air escaped from between his teeth, which Vince hadn’t realized he’d been gritting until that very moment.

Howard looked down at Vince, a matching flush on his cheeks. He was suddenly all too aware that they’d been standing like this, Vince’s hands pressed to his belly as if mapping the size and shape of him, for far longer than could be considered proper. It was affecting him in a way he hadn’t expected--he’d been so touch-starved for so long that Vince’s naked worship of his bump was beginning to make him stand at attention.

He didn’t want it to stop, but he was terrified of what would happen if Vince were to discover his, ahem, _reaction_ , and cleared his throat. “I should get in the shower,” he said softly. “The shop will open soon, and we don’t want to be late.”

Vince slumped and let his hands drop to his sides. “Yeah,” he agreed, even though his heart pounded with protest against his ribs. “I still need to do my hair, and I can’t do that while you’re making the bathroom all steamy.”

Howard turned and grabbed his dressing gown off of his unmade bed. “I’ll just, er, go and take care of that, then,” he stammered, carefully arranging the robe to drape across the growing bulge in his pajama bottoms. 

He chanced one final look over his shoulder as he left the room: Vince was standing still, shoulders slumped, looking so small and lost that Howard had to fight the urge to gather him in his arms and hold him tight, to let the small swell of his bump press against Vince’s flat, hard stomach. He turned and headed to the bathroom before he did something regrettable. At least he’d have enough privacy to take care of himself in the shower. 

Alone in their room, Vince got himself off as quickly as he ever had done, hips stuttering violently into his own hand. Across the hall, in the shower and unbeknownst to him, Howard followed not long after. 

Fresh from his shower and loose-limbed from his release, Howard stood outside the door to their shared room, quietly observing the scene within. He knew if Naboo saw him, he’d tell him he was being a ball-licking creep, peering at Vince with his tiny rapist eyes, but happily, Naboo was not around and Howard was free to drink his fill of the sight before him.

Vince lay in his bed, hair fluffy, feathered, and product-free. His skin was completely clean of makeup, and Howard could see the faint natural blush on his alabaster cheeks. In his lap, he held _Where the Wild Things Are,_ and examined each page closely before delicately turning the pages. He silently mouthed the words and traced the illustrations with his fingertip. Howard decided that like this, in the soft light of their bedroom, completely enraptured with a silly children’s book, Vince had never looked more beautiful. 

A pang of emotion shot through him--Vince had been there for him and with him since they’d been young, wild things. And he was still here now, when anyone else would have turned and run for the hills. Beautiful Vince was still at his side. 

Howard fought back tears that threatened to spill, but warring with equal strength was pure, unadulterated _lust._ He remembered the foot massage… up until the moment he’d nearly broken Vince’s nose, that is. The memory of Vince’s fingertips running up and down his feet and ankles shot warmth through Howard, and despite having just gotten himself off, he could feel himself growing hard again. He remembered the open adoration Vince had shown his belly, the way he cradled it reverently, and imagined for a minute how it would feel if he’d let Vince continue, if those fingers had worked their way up his chest and down between his legs… 

“Nice sconge,” Naboo lisped, sneaking by so suddenly that Howard nearly jumped out of his skin. 

Howard reflexively covered his crotch with his hands--he’d gotten off in the shower only a few minutes before, but his quiet contemplation of Vince reading had reawakened his desire. He’d remembered reading that the second trimester was often accompanied by an increase in libido, and he wondered if he could blame his erection on the fact that at nearly fourteen weeks into his pregnancy, he was technically in his second trimester. “What are you doing here?” he hissed, although he knew Vince had probably heard Naboo’s comment. 

“Just got back from a Council meeting,” Naboo said drily. “Get dressed, and stop being sleazy. Your legal counsel needs to speak to you.”

Howard groaned, but he ducked inside his bedroom and complied despite the fact that the last thing he felt like doing was discussing the details of his paternity suit against the aliens with the likes of the Shaman Council. However grudgingly, though, Howard recognized that he needed to put the best interests of his baby ahead of his personal discomfort regarding the situation. 

Vince was still absorbed by his book; if he had overheard Naboo and Howard’s conversation, he gave no indication that he was aware of the effect that Howard’s clandestine contemplation had had on him, for which Howard was grateful. Howard rummaged through his dresser for a pair of pants and trousers that would fit comfortably around his growing bump, then pulled the chosen garments on without undoing his dressing gown. Only when he was sure that he’d arranged his bits properly enough that they wouldn’t show beneath his clothing did Howard shrug off his robe to choose a shirt.

As Howard rifled through the closet in search of a shirt that wouldn’t strain too much around his bump, he had the feeling he was being watched. A quick glance revealed that he was--Vince was staring at him with an inscrutable expression, the children’s book he’d been reading lying open and forgotten on his lap.

Their eyes met, and when Howard raised a curious eyebrow, the pink flush on Vince’s cheeks intensified. “Never knew you to take so long to choose an outfit,” Vince mumbled, by way of explanation. 

Luckily Howard took him at his word. “Just trying to find something that fits,” he mumbled. “Think I’m starting to outgrow all my clothes.”

Vince licked his lips, his eyes darting directly to Howard’s belly. “Guess I’m gonna have to take you shopping,” he said eagerly. “D’ya think they make maternity clothes for men?”

“ _Paternity_ clothes,” Howard corrected, pedantic as ever.

Vince rolled his eyes. “Maternity, paternity, _whatever_.”

“I’m a _man,”_ Howard protested. “The word _maternity_ derives from the Latin word _mater,_ for mother. _Paternity_ derives from the Latin _pater,_ for father. Even if I’m the bearer of this child, I’m still going to be its father, so...” He trailed off when he noticed Vince grinning, his eyes shining with mischief. 

“I know,” Vince said. “I’m just messin’ with you, Howard. You’re cute when you get all worked up--” He stopped himself, aware of what he’d just said, and flushed again.

Howard stood dumbly, his quest to find a properly-fitting shirt forgotten. Had Vince just called him _cute?_ Vince _never_ complimented his appearance--when Vince bothered to remark on Howard’s looks at all, he usually teased Howard for having small eyes like a crab or a moustache like a pedophile. 

Vince coughed. “Try the one with the parrots on it,” he said before Howard could comment on his rather Freudian slip of the tongue. “It was a bit big on you the last time you wore it. Could do, now.”

Howard turned and grabbed the shirt, one that was printed with coral parrots and green palm fronds. It strained a bit at the fullest part of his bump, but otherwise fit. “Thanks, Vince,” he murmured.

Vince merely nodded and turned back to his book, studying the page intently where it lay on his lap. 

“Reading that old thing again?” Howard asked without any real malice in his voice. 

“Yeah,” Vince replied with a sheepish grin. “I love this story. Reminds me of me and Bryan Ferry and Jahooli and all.” His eyes went faraway for a moment, reliving his childhood memories. When he came back to himself, Howard recognized immediately the face Vince made when he wanted something but did not want to ask for it directly. 

“What are you thinking, Little Man?” Howard asked point blank.

“Well… it’s silly. I don’t even know if it’s possible,” replied Vince, ruffling his hair sheepishly. 

“Go on,” said Howard, giving Vince a half-smile he hoped was encouraging. 

“Well, babies usually live in nurseries, don’t they? I was just thinking… it’d be genius if y--” Vince stopped himself. He didn’t want to say “your baby,” since that made it sound like it was something Howard had gone out and voluntarily picked up at the B&Q. He didn’t want to presume to say “our baby” since that sounded like he, Vince, had had something to do with its conception. “It’d be genius if the baby had its own nursery, and we could decorate it like this book,” he finished lamely, running the words together quickly in an attempt to hide them. 

Howard was, for lack of a better word, beaming at him. His eyes were full of such love that Vince could have wept. He’d always wanted Howard to look at him like that, with that amount of approval and acceptance and _Well done, Vince_. 

Howard began, “I think that’s a brilliant idea, Vince.” 

“Really?” Vince asked. Howard nodded, and Vince could hardly contain his excitement. “I think I could paint these wild things on the walls, won’t be hard to replicate. If Naboo’ll let us, that is.” 

Howard was struck by a sudden and terrible realization. “Where is the baby going to _sleep_ , Vince?” he asked, voice full of panic. “This is a _two bedroom_ flat!”

“Oh,” Vince shrugged. “Um, I thought the baby could sleep in here, with us? That way, if it wakes up during the night, we’ll be right there--”

Howard cut him off. “That’s all well and good for the first few months, but what happens when the baby gets a bit older and needs a room of its own? This room is barely big enough for the two of us, much less a growing child!”

“Maybe we could get a flat...?” Vince offered.

“With _what_ money, Vince?” Howard asked, his voice rising as his panic intensified. “Do you have any idea how expensive London is? We can barely afford this place as it is, and Naboo barely charges us anything--”

He was interrupted by a knock at the door. “You ballbags ready yet?” Naboo called impatiently. “We’ve got a carpet to catch!”

Howard and Vince made their way downstairs to find Naboo’s carpet out front of the shop. Vince stopped Naboo, worry clear on his face. “Is carpet travel safe? For Howard in his… condition?”

Naboo rolled his eyes. “Safer than the tin can disasters waiting to happen that you call airplanes. He’ll be fine.” 

Howard was not altogether convinced, as Naboo thought that marijuana tinctures were a proper treatment for morning sickness. However, he had to admit that the carpet _was_ a lot more convenient than going through airport security, and so, he grudgingly boarded the carpet. Vince grasped his hand tightly the entire time, squeezing harder every time the carpet took a sharp turn, which made the turbulent carpet ride almost pleasant.

Minutes later, Howard and Vince were standing before the Shaman Council, who were seated importantly at their conference table complete with name plates (though why they needed name plates when there were only a handful of them and they’d been working together for centuries was beyond Vince and Howard). 

Dennis spoke first. With exaggerated gravitas, he announced, “Greetings. We are here for an update on the Uranus-Earth breeding program, and to hear what news your legal counsel has on your case.”

Vince and Howard stared at the motley assembly of Shaman blankly, unsure of how to proceed. 

“How are you feeling?” asked Kirk, looking directly at Howard. His lecherous gaze was unsettling on his childlike features, and Howard fought the impulse to shiver. He was thankful when Vince shot a disapproving (and somewhat possessive) glare at the child-shaman, who rolled his eyes and muttered something about prudish human sexual mores before turning to stare stonedly into the distance. 

“Oh, erm… fine?” Howard asked, his eyes crinkling in nervousness. “You know, a bit sweaty, a bit tired, but otherwise… okay?” This last bit came out as a question. Vince stood beside him nodding. While the act of standing before Super Magic Men at an important conference table made Howard squirm, Vince merely thought of them as Naboo’s eccentric mates, not an all-powerful Magical Council.

“And the spawn?” Dennis asked. 

Howard looked at him thoughtfully. He wasn’t sure, actually, how the baby was. How could he know? He couldn’t see it or observe it, he certainly couldn’t ask it. “I… I suppose it is well. I have had morning sickness which my research indicates is normal. I’ve been hungrier than usual? I guess that means the, uh, _spawn_ is growing?” Howard hated calling the baby “spawn”. That made it sound clinical, or even grotesque. He’d been thinking of it as “the baby” or “little one” when addressing it in his mind.

“Then it appears everything is going as well as we could have hoped,” Dennis concluded, straightening his shoulders pompously. Howard heaved a sigh of relief, glad the inquiry was finished. “You will, of course, need to come back in a few more weeks for a more thorough examination,” the head Shaman added. 

“A more... thorough... examination?” Howard asked. He did not like the sound of that at all. 

Vince could see Howard pale at the suggestion. Both men hated doctors, and he could only imagine what sort of horrible hijinks Naboo’s perverted friends would get up to. 

“Of course!” Tony Harrison said eagerly. “We’ll need to give you the old speculum, get a good look up inside you...”

Howard felt absolutely nauseated.

He was saved by Naboo. “Don’t listen to Tony Harrison. He’s just being disgusting,” Naboo said, rolling his eyes. “The speculum is a primitive human medical instrument. Here on Xooberon, we have spells for that kind of thing now.”

Tony Harrison looked crestfallen. “Shit off, Naboo, you’re such a spoilsport!” Howard visibly relaxed when he realized there would not, in fact, be a speculum involved. 

Saboo elbowed Tony Harrison in his pink testicular forehead. “You shit off, you tentacled amalgamation of sexual deviancy! We’re here to discuss important legal matters, not your depraved misuse of human medical devices!”

“And now,” said Dennis, sitting up a bit taller, “Tony Harrison and Saboo, please present your findings with regards to the case of Moon vs. Uranus.” Kirk snickered. 

Saboo stood. “Our pilgrimage to Uranus was enlightening--”

He was interrupted by Tony Harrison’s sniggering. Saboo merely elbowed him in his crease. “As I was saying before this useless lawyer-impersonating ballbag so rudely interrupted me, we paid a visit to the putative father, who, upon learning that their medical experiment to implant a fetus into a human was successful, promptly informed us, and I quote, ‘We hate Howard Moon and want nothing to do with him or his half-alien bastard.’”

Vince’s jaw dropped. Sure, Howard could be annoying sometimes, had absolutely no fashion sense, and awful taste in music--but how could anyone _hate_ Howard? What kind of monsters could completely disregard the baby they’d created, no matter how regrettable the circumstance of the conception?

He snuck a glance at Howard, whose mouth was drawn into a tight line. Though his face was blank and utterly devoid of emotion, Vince could tell that he was surreptitiously trying to give himself a Chinese burn underneath the table. He grasped Howard’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together. Howard’s small eyes were suspiciously bright, and Vince squeezed more tightly, doing his best to offer Howard as much comfort as he could during the unpleasant legal proceedings.

“The Uranians then filed a formal demurrer, denying any responsibility or financial disbursement in this case,” Saboo continued. 

“Isn’t that a fancy word for ‘arse?’” asked Kirk, giggling. 

“That’s _derriere,_ you slathering idiot,” Saboo replied. 

“So, what you’re saying is, they’re not going to do anything to help Howard?” Vince asked. 

“ _Mens rea_!” proclaimed Tony Harrison. 

“In short, no,” said Saboo with an air of finality. 

Howard felt his stomach drop. He thought he might be sick, and swallowed violently. Vince shot him a concerned look and squeezed Howard’s hand in his own.

“Lucky for you two trollops, I am an expert in intergalactic sex law,” Tony Harrison said.

“I keep trying to tell you, there’s no such thing as sex law--” 

Tony Harrison ignored Saboo’s indignant protests. “It is a violation of the Intergalactic Code of Sexual Conduct, item 69, section ‘F’ for ‘Fuck’, to breed one’s pets without consent.” He grinned maniacally. “We’re going to sue the shit out of those Uranian arseholes, and get our tentacles on some of their filthy, filthy black-market radioactive uranium money!”

Saboo looked dumbstruck. He extracted a large, thick tome from his voluminous robes, flipping frantically through the pages until he located the information he was looking for. “Well, praise be,” he muttered. “Tony Harrison actually has some _useful_ information in his deformed pink skull, for once.”

Tony Harrison’s grin grew to alarming proportions as he squirmed his tentacles in delight. “Oh, stand in awe before the power of the H-Man!”

Howard let out a sigh of relief. However, his relief was short-lived.

“We’ll need to collect some DNA to prove paternity, of course,” Tony Harrison said, waggling his brow lecherously. “That’s where the speculum comes in handy...”

“No way you’re doing _that_ to Howard!” Vince exclaimed. “He’s already been through enough, without you trying to--to _speculate_ him, too!”

“That’s not what that word means,” Saboo said pedantically.

“I don’t care!” Vince shouted. “No one’s putting a speculum up inside Howard!”

“Chill,” Naboo griped. “I _told_ you, we have spells for that kind of thing.” He glared at Tony Harrison, whose disappointment that his plot to use the speculum on Howard had been foiled again was palpable.

“They fell for it twice, though,” Tony Harrison added with a giggle.

Howard was thankful for Naboo’s intervention. “So, we just take another blood sample, and give it to the Uranians?” he asked, trying to make sense of the situation.

“Well, no,” Naboo admitted. “The situation requires a legally-binding DNA test; it’s not so easy as all that. We’ll have to do a whole ritual, with peyote and summoning, but not until the fifth month. Otherwise the risk of miscarriage is too high.”

Howard’s free hand, the one Vince wasn’t holding, instinctively settled on his bump in a protective gesture. “Is peyote safe for the baby?” he asked. None of the books on pregnancy he’d borrowed from the library had mentioned peyote directly, but they were all pretty clear that illegal drugs would cause irreparable damage to the fetus. 

“Not for _you,”_ Naboo lisped, shooting Howard a look that indicated that he thought the question was idiotic. “The peyote is for _us_.”

“Peyote very important for summoning,” Bollo added, the rest of the Shaman Council nodding in agreement. 

“It is settled,” said Dennis, rising. “You will return to us in your fifth month for a proper examination-- _no speculum--”_ (he shot a chiding glance at Tony Harrison), “and the DNA testing required for the lawyerings. Naboo, you are dismissed.” 

_“Finally,”_ Naboo groused. “I’m almost _sober_.” He rolled out his magic carpet, gesturing to his familiar and his flatmates to hop on. 

Vince nodded at Howard. “All right?” he asked.

Howard was terrified. Everything about this situation was uncertain and uncomfortable. He’d always assumed that the Shaman Council despised him, but he was comforted knowing that they would come through for him in the Crunch, handling the intergalactic legal matters for him. More than that, he had Vince by his side, who seemed eager to protect Howard and his baby.

It was too bad, Howard mused as he settled next to Vince on the carpet, that after so many months of growing animosity between them, Vince had only started to treat Howard with care and consideration after he’d found out that Howard was pregnant. The man had a notoriously short attention span--what would happen after the baby was born? Would Vince turn cruel and callous once Howard no longer needed him?

Howard hoped not. He had the feeling that he would need Vince by his side more than ever. He swallowed against the knot in his throat, silently cursing the pregnancy hormones for wreaking havoc with his emotions. “All right,” he said, flashing Vince a sad smile, though he was not altogether convinced.

Vince slung an arm around Howard’s waist, resting an open palm on his bump. “All right,” he repeated, holding Howard close the whole way home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The UST intensifies, and won't get resolved anytime soon. Stick with us, we promise it will be worth it... 
> 
> The endnotes of the next several chapters is just Stoney yelling, "Everyone gets off harder, trust me!"
> 
> (Bobby can confirm that everyone does, indeed, get off harder...)


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys discuss their plans for the nursery, which are derailed by Howard’s insecurity. There is angst, but they work it out thanks to Naboo, who gets dragged into playing couple’s counselor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst and fluff ahead! Don't worry, it all works out in the end.
> 
> Thanks to LittleBooshMaid for beta'ing this for us on short notice. We're bad authors, getting caught up in writing and forgetting to send chapters out to beta on time. Whoops!

The following morning dawned cloudy, and Howard’s mood was as gray as the skies. Ever since they’d gotten home from their meeting with the Shaman Council, he’d been mopey. Vince even sensed a sadness shower coming on. Dutifully, he went about making breakfast and tried his best to cheer Howard. When it was clear that tea and sympathy weren’t going to fix things, Vince decided the best course of action would be to distract Howard by talking about his plans for the nursery. 

“I was thinking,” Vince said hesitantly, knowing he was treading on thin ice, “that we could go to the art supply shop this afternoon, get some acrylics so’s I could practice painting the Wild Things for the mural--”

“Whatever,” Howard huffed, staring into his tea. It was that ginger rooibos, which Howard liked better than most of the herbal blends Vince had been foisting on him in an attempt to break his proper Englishman’s addiction to tea, but Howard’s bad mood made it taste like dirt and wood chips.

“It’ll be fun, you’ll see,” Vince insisted. “You like stationery; pens, and paper and all that. The art store is full of that kind of stuff!”

“I suppose, though does it really matter? We don’t even _have_ a nursery. Furthermore, apparently the baby will be a bastard half-breed with no heritage to speak of,” Howard moped. 

“C’mon Howard,” Vince sighed, trying his best not to lose his temper. “It’s not so bad as all that.” He’d thought that Howard had put his self-pity behind him weeks ago, and he wasn’t looking forward to five more months of Howard’s sulking. The water bill alone would bankrupt them, even before they had a chance to buy stuff for the nursery.

“Not so bad?” Howard said, setting his teacup down with a clatter. “This is _their_ baby, Vince, and they want nothing to do with it!” He could deal with the aliens’ hatred of him--Howard was used to being hated. But the idea that the aliens could reject the baby they’d implanted inside of him, who was innocent in all of this, rankled Howard deeply. It triggered a heretofore dormant protective instinct in him, perhaps the maternal (nay, _paternal,_ his pedantic side insisted) instinct those pregnancy books were always nattering on about. 

Vince flinched at the reminder that Howard’s baby had, in fact, been fathered by the Uranians. Though he knew on an intellectual level that Howard’s baby was half-alien, Vince had begun thinking of Howard’s baby as _their_ baby--more often than not, he referred to the baby as “our baby” in his head. Knowing how sensitive Howard was about such things (and what a massive pedant he could be), Vince had thus far been careful to avoid saying so aloud.

Tentatively, Vince said, “Maybe it’s for the best.”

“For the best?” cried Howard. “This baby deserves to know their other father! The baby is half alien--

“I _know_ what it’s like, Howard,” Vince interrupted, eyes flashing. Once he started speaking, he could not stop the words from pouring out of him. “When I was a little boy in the jungle, I used to daydream about who my real parents were. I used to wonder what they looked like, what kind of people they were.” He looked Howard in the eyes, who was opening his mouth to speak, and Vince took a deep breath, the words coming so quickly Howard could not get a word in edgewise. “But then I realized that it didn’t matter who my _real_ parents were. What did matter was that--that they didn’t want me. So they left me in the jungle, a jungle full of dangerous, hungry animals.” Vince wrung his hands as he spoke, wishing that he had a pen or crayon, something to fidget with, some kind of distraction from the worst memories of his childhood. “ _That’s_ the kind of people they were. People who left their baby in the jungle, who didn’t _care_ if monkeys stole my face or a lion swallowed me whole.” 

Howard reached an arm out to comfort him, but Vince shrugged him off. The rejection did not help Howard’s disconsolate mood one bit. 

“And then I realized that it didn’t matter who my real parents were, because Bryan Ferry and Jahouli were _better_ than my real parents. They were better because--because they loved me. Because they cared about whether I was hungry or tired or sad.” Even though he’d pushed Howard away, Vince wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to hug himself. It didn’t slow his racing heart, nor did it quiet the blood pounding in his ears, but he was too proud to admit he wanted Howard to comfort him after he’d rejected the attempted hug. “So maybe it doesn’t matter if your baby never meets their other father. Because their alien father doesn’t _care_ about them. And I can’t think of anything worse than meeting my birth parents and _knowing_ they just--just left me to die, alone in the jungle. That they didn’t love me. Because you don’t just abandon the things that you love. Even when Bryan Ferry went on his world tour, he didn’t just drop me into the middle of the desert to be eaten alive by sandworms. He made sure I went to a good home, a safe home, where there were people to take care of me while he was away.”

“Vince--” Howard began, but Vince cut him off, his voice rising into a shout. 

“Your baby might _never_ know their Uranian heritage. Who cares? They’ll have plenty of heritage. You can teach them about jazz and bookmarks. And I can teach them about David Bowie and fashion. And Naboo and Bollo can teach them about, I don’t know, drugs and--and shaman business. Because we’re not going to abandon you--not your baby, Howard, and not you, neither!” 

All of Howard’s insecurities poured out of him. “You say this now, Vince, but what happens when you meet some Goth girl, or an electro boy?” He knew he was being cruel, but that wasn’t the _point_ \--the point was that Vince would inevitably grow bored of staying at home to take care of Howard and the baby when there were so many parties and beautiful people vying for his attention. Vince would abandon him the way the aliens had abandoned him, and it did neither of them any good to pretend otherwise. “Because I know you, Vince, you’re like--like a budgie, chasing after shiny things... and shiny people...”

Vince jumped to his feet and stormed out of the room. “You say that you know me, but do you _really_ know me, Howard? Because if you did, you’d _know_ I’m not like my parents, OK? I don’t just abandon the things I love. Otherwise I wouldn’t have a closet full of clothes from ten years ago, or a collection of all my old hair clippings--and I certainly wouldn’t still be friends with _you_ , Howard!” He raced down the hall, blinded by the tears burning in his eyes.

He needed to be alone--or not alone, not really, just somewhere Howard _wasn’t_. He found himself going through the beaded curtain that led into Naboo and Bollo’s room, and entered without knocking. The door wasn’t locked, and the shaman and his familiar were sharing a hookah, looking up expectantly as though they knew Vince would be joining them. 

Vince stood inside the room, willing the tears in his eyes not to fall and took a steadying breath. The small bedroom was thick with fragrant smoke, but something about it was soothing to Vince’s frayed nerves. He toed off his boots and sat beside Bollo, the gorilla’s familiar animal smell comforting him further. With a sniffle and a surreptitious wipe of his sleeve across his nose, he composed himself and smiled up at his roommates. “All right?” he asked. 

Naboo reached beneath a colorful floor cushion and proffered a bag of Haribo sweets. Vince took them, dropping the smile, and tore into the package, knowing that while the sunshine veneer he put on for Camden’s trendies worked fine for them, there was no use hiding his feelings from Naboo or Bollo. 

“Howard being ballbag?” Bollo asked, taking a long pull from the hookah.

“Yeah,” Vince sniffled, and shoved another handful of Haribo bears into his mouth. 

Neither Naboo nor Bollo seemed particularly surprised. Naboo did what he usually did in a situation where he was expected to offer comfort and offered the hookah to Vince, which Vince politely declined. He knew from experience that marijuana only intensified whatever feelings he was experiencing, good or bad, and the last thing he wanted was to feel _worse_ about his argument with Howard.

“Howard’s an idiot. He has the emotions of a pregnant woman and the emotional intelligence of a slug,” Naboo said. “Let him freak out and feel sorry for himself for a while. Don’t worry, he’ll come around.”

Vince sniffled a bit. “You don’t understand, Naboo! He said that I would abandon him _and_ the baby!” He wiped his nose again, staring at the large smear of snot on his sleeve. “He thinks I’m like, like my _parents_ or something, that I’d just _leave_ him--”

Bollo pulled Vince down gently, resting Vince’s head in his lap and started grooming him, the way he would soothe a child of his own. Vince kind of _did_ resemble a young ape, with all the wiry black hair on his head, and his arms, and the rest of his body, but Bollo knew better than to mention that. He concentrated on smoothing Vince’s unruly hair, which looked as sad as the rest of him. 

Naboo sighed. He preferred to stay out of his human flatmate’s frequent disagreements, but he knew that Vince needed him to talk him down from his panicked state. “Look, Vince, you probably know this already, but Howard _needs_ you. Probably more than any human should ever need anyone else, but he _does_ , he’s just way too proud to admit it.” Vince looked at Naboo with wide eyes, his lip trembling with the threat of another flood of tears. “Howard thinks he’s some kind of man of action, or a lone wolf or whatever, but he’s not a lone wolf--he’s just _lonely._ He doesn’t exactly have any experience with healthy relationships. Aside from you, that is... he’s probably just acting out, trying to test you or something.”

“You really think so?” Vince asked, his voice small and high. Sprawled out on the floor, half in Bollo’s lap with a half-eaten bag of Haribo gummies at his side, he looked like nothing more than an oversized child.

“I do,” Naboo said. “I’m a shaman, you can trust me--I _see_ things.”

“Did you see me coming in here? Is that why you had sweets?”

Naboo tapped his temple. “Shaman vision,” he explained.

Vince shoved another handful of Haribo into his mouth. “So you can see the future?” he asked as he chewed, spraying Naboo and Bollo with half-chewed gummies.

“I can,” Naboo answered. “And before you ask, Howard will be coming in here to apologize, any minute now.”

No sooner had Naboo spoken his prophecy than Howard peeked through the beaded curtain.

“Vince, you in here?”

Vince sniffled and fought back the impulse to tell him to go away. “Yeah,” he said.

Without waiting to be invited in, Howard entered the room. The smoke went to his head, and he almost swooned. As soon as he stumbled, Vince jumped to his feet to steady him. He shot Naboo a dirty look and opened the window to let out some of the fumes. 

“I’m sorry, Vince,” Howard said, leaning into Vince, who was still supporting him even though he was no longer in danger of falling down. “You’re my best friend, and I shouldn’t have... said those things about you. I was just so... so upset about the whole nursery thing, yeah? I know I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, but... these stupid _hormones_ , they’re making me crazy, I can’t even think straight.”

“You can say that again,” Naboo muttered under his breath. He and Bollo cackled a bit, but their outburst was cut short when Vince shot them a dirty look. Naboo adjusted his turban and stifled his smirk, schooling his features into a serious expression. “Look, you can’t control the Uranians. They don’t want to be a part of you or your spawn’s life, that’s their problem.” He took a pull off the hookah sagely, and Vince nodded, obviously giving Naboo’s words the gravity and importance they deserved. “That being said, you need a nursery, right? And if you find one, you’ll calm the fuck down and stop making the rest of us miserable along with you?”

“Well, maybe,” Howard said. The nursery wasn’t the problem--regardless of all the ways Vince had supported him through his pregnancy thus far, he couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that Vince would come to his senses and leave Howard behind once it became obvious how much and how permanently a baby would change his life. Howard was especially sensitive to rejection, but he knew, deep down, that he was appreciative of Vince, Naboo, and even Bollo’s support. Naboo scowled. “I mean, yes!”

“That’s easy,” Naboo said. “Me and Bollo can just move upstairs to the attic. I been meaning to exorcise the ghoul that lives up there anyway.”

“Wait, we have an _attic?”_ Vince asked, surprised. “Why have you been living in this tiny room if we have an _attic?”_

Naboo shrugged. “Exorcism’s hard work. You have to be sober for an exorcism to stick, you know,” he explained.

Naboo’s dislike of sobriety was obvious enough that both Vince and Howard knew exactly how much of an olive branch the shaman was extending.

“See? It’s not worth arguing over. Now kiss and make out and put the rest of us out of our misery,” Naboo said, dragging on his hookah.

“Wait, _what_ did you say?” Howard asked.

Naboo sighed. Obviously his human flatmates were too stupid to do what was best for them. “I _said_ ‘kiss and make up’, or whatever you humans say when you’re done being mad at each other.”

“Oh,” Howard said. He was pretty sure he’d heard Naboo say “kiss and make out”, but that was probably just the pregnancy hormones talking. All the pregnancy books he’d read had warned that he would begin experiencing an increase in libido right about now, after all....

Vince, however, was not pregnant, his brains were not being addled by said pregnancy hormones, and he was pretty certain he’d heard Naboo correctly the first time around. For the moment, he decided not to say anything to call Naboo’s bluff, lest he trigger another one of Howard’s pregnancy-induced existential crises. He did, however, wink at Naboo, who winked back. The two of them smirked at each other in a private joke as Vince slung an arm around Howard’s waist, sneaking a quick grope of his bump.

“C’mon Howard,” Vince said, “we’ve got a nursery to design.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have been told Naboo had a distinctly American voice. This is probably because we're Americans, but just pretend he spent some time in America circa the Woodstock era, where he picked up both American slang and his taste for Earth drugs.


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard starts growing tits, and Vince’s appreciation of Howard’s pregnancy body intensifies. Unfortunately, so does Howard’s morning sickness, and the two men find themselves having to share the loo at the most inopportune times. Do alien babies breastfeed? Who knows. A UST-filled chapter with bonus crimp action!

Pregnancy suited Howard, Vince considered. There was no other way to describe it--Howard was starting to _glow_.

His skin was plump and flushed with good health. His hair coming was thicker, with a proper curl instead of his usual half-hearted wavy mess of brown smoke. 

Most of all, Vince liked his belly. He’d always been endeared by Howard’s little paunch, but now that he was four months along, he had a proper pregnancy belly, firm and round. 

Vince had a number of feelings about Howard’s baby bump, primarily awe that there was, in fact, a brand new life growing inside of Howard. When Vince stopped and gave it some serious thought, he was always left with a sense of pride and wonder at Howard, at his ability to do this, at the steadfast way he held to his principles. It made Vince feel the same sense of wonderment and hero-worship he’d felt during the zoo times, when Howard had been his idol, the ultimate standard to which all other humans would be held. 

Although Vince was over the moon about Howard’s pregnancy, he felt a little sad, too. He wished so badly that _he’d_ had some part in this. The maleness in him warred with the femininity--he wasn’t sure if he wanted to carry the baby (he already had some genius ideas for a line of high-fashion maternity wear), or if he wanted to father it. The thought of Howard carrying _his_ child--of having filled Howard with his seed, of his progeny resulting from such a coupling--made him ache. 

Which led to an uncomfortable realization: Vince was terribly aroused by the whole thing. He felt a bit bad about it. It wasn’t right, being turned on by your best mate because he’d improbably gotten pregnant via an alien probe. But guilt had never been a stronghold in Vince’s life, so he got over it quickly. 

Vince took to getting himself off during his morning shower, imagining topping Howard, imagining how good it would feel to spend himself inside Howard and stay seated in him, making sure his cum filled Howard full enough to conceive. He imagined Howard beneath him, sated and submissive, as Vince fucked babies into him. He imagined tracking things like moon cycles and whatnot so they fucked at Howard’s most fertile times. The thought of _breeding_ Howard almost always made Vince come so hard his eyes crossed. 

On the rare occasions that he managed to control himself enough to indulge in a long, luxurious wank, Vince would imagine Howard’s body, swollen with the life Vince had fucked into him. Vince imagined Howard’s round, heavy stomach, imagined wrapping his arms around him to caress Howard’s taut belly. He wanted to lick it, wanted to drag his hard length up and down Howard’s beautifully distended stomach. He thought about Howard’s clear, creamy skin, his thick, full hair, how good it would be to pull and hold on to while they---

A knock sounded at the door. At first, Vince ignored it, but it sounded again, more frantic this time, and Vince let go of his erection with a sigh.

Vince’s morning shower wanks had become as regular as Howard’s morning sickness. This caused no small amount of awkwardness, as it always seemed Howard needed to use the loo just as Vince’s fantasies--and Vince himself--were approaching climax.

This time was no different. Vince had been enthusiastically wanking himself to a fantasy of Howard riding him, his big belly bouncing between them, when a frantic knock sounded at the door, followed by a desperate-sounding voice calling, “Vince! Are you in there? I need the loo!”

Sighing, Vince turned the water to cold. “Just a minute, Howard!” The icy water helped to calm his passion, his erection fading to semi that he concealed with some creative tucking beneath the towel he wrapped around his waist. His wet hair dripped down his chest and shoulders as he unlocked the door, and Howard, thankfully, ignored him as he raced to the toilet with a hand clasped over his mouth. 

Howard promptly he fell to his knees in front of the toilet and retched. He’d made it just in time to avoid spilling the contents of his stomach on himself and the floor. Heaving a few more times, Howard flushed and rested his head against the cool porcelain of the toilet seat, fighting back tears of frustration.

As excited as Howard was to have a baby, pregnancy _sucked_. He was tired all the time, his feet and back ached constantly, and his sense of smell had become much more sensitive, which was rather unfortunate for a man cohabitating with a gorilla and a drug-addicted shaman, both of whom were rather... fragrant. But morning sickness was by far his least favorite part of being pregnant. 

For one thing, the name was incredibly misleading: morning sickness struck suddenly, without warning, at random times throughout the day and night. Strong smells and many of his former favorite foods caused him to run for the loo. More than once, he’d gotten sick on himself, mostly due to the fact that the small apartment only had one bathroom. It was bad enough sharing a single bathroom between three grown men and an ape, but it was infinitely worse when one of those men was as vain as Vince. Vince seemed to _always_ be in the bathroom when Howard needed it. He’d been spending even more time in there than usual...

Howard was hit with another wave of nausea, and though he gagged, nothing came up. He groaned and let his head flop forward onto the toilet seat as he waited for the uncomfortable feeling to pass.

A warm, wet hand stroked Howard’s curls softly. “Alright there?” Vince asked. 

Howard groaned again. “I feel _terrible_.” He wanted to snap and say _don’t touch me_ , but miserable as he was, even he had to admit that Vince’s touch was comforting. 

Still clad in nothing more than a towel, Vince plopped down next to his friend on the bathroom floor. “Didn’t all those pregnancy books say morning sickness was supposed to stop at the end of the first trimester?”

Howard rolled his eyes. “‘All those pregnancy books’ were written about pregnant _women_ , Vince. I’m a pregnant _man_. I’m not so sure they’re relevant to my... situation.”

“Maybe we can ask Naboo to make you something for the nausea,” Vince suggested.

“I already tried that!” Howard cried. “Turns out _all_ his anti-nausea potions are full of marijuana, and ‘all those pregnancy books’ were quite clear that marijuana is bad for the baby. I’m pretty sure that’s one thing that’s true whether you’re a pregnant man or a pregnant woman.”

“Aww, Howard,” Vince said. He wished he knew how to comfort his friend, but the pregnancy hormones were making Howard even tetchier than usual. He didn’t dare suggest that they seek the advice of a human doctor again--the last time he’d brought it up, Howard had promptly broken down into tears and insisted that he’d be treated like a freak at best and at worst, dissected for medical research before he had even managed to carry the baby to term. Vince had to admit that perhaps Howard had a point about that. The Shaman Council were a bunch of drug-addled miscreants, but at least they weren’t treating Howard like a freak for being a pregnant man. Alien races were much more egalitarian when it came to gestating babies than humans, it seemed.

Vince settled for softly skritching his fingers against Howard’s scalp. “Poor baby,” he murmured.

Howard leaned into the touch, rumbling softly like an oversized cat. It made Vince smile to see how easily Howard could let himself be comforted. Perhaps pregnancy hormones weren’t _all_ bad, especially if Howard didn’t flinch away from physical affection now that his brain chemicals were all out of whack.

“Being pregnant _sucks,_ ” Howard griped. “I’m sick all the time, my whole body hurts, and I’m even growing _tits.”_

Before Vince realized what was happening, Howard had already shucked off his shirt. He gestured wildly towards his chest. “Look at me! I’m a freak!”

Vince looked, and immediately wished he hadn’t, at least not before putting on something more substantial than a towel. Because Howard was right--he _was_ growing tits. He’d _always_ had tits, and though still small, they were certainly plumper and more voluptuous than _ever_. Vince’s fingers itched to touch them, his mouth went slack and dry with the desire to... _suckle_... them... 

“See?” Howard cried. “Even my best friend thinks I’m a freak!”

Vince shook his head, desperate to clear his mind of thoughts about Howard’s tits and the things he’d like to do to them. “Umm, Howard,” he started. His voice came out all rough and deep, and Vince cleared his throat before continuing. “Um, don’t take this the wrong way... but you’ve _always_ kind of had... tits.” His voice squeaked a bit on that last word, and Vince wriggled, subtly trying to rearrange his bits underneath his towel before he embarrassed himself.

“Then why are you _staring_ at them?” Howard cried.

“They’re... um... nice tits?” _Very_ nice tits, his mind supplied as he snuck another peek. His dick definitely agreed.

Howard wailed. “Men aren’t supposed to have nice tits, Vince!” 

“Maybe not men in general,” Vince said, “but I’m pretty sure that’s normal for a _pregnant_ man.” He patted Howard’s back gently, trying desperately to avoid staring at Howard’s... heaving bosoms. Vince was already feeling guilty for getting off on Howard’s pregnancy belly; he was pretty sure that getting off on his pregnancy tits was even worse. Even so, Vince knew he was going to be adding Howard’s tits to his ever-growing list of Howard-centric sexual fantasies. 

Howard sniffled and wiped his nose on his hand. Vince helpfully handed him a wad of toilet paper, which Howard used to dry his eyes and blow his nose. “C’mon,” Vince said, squeezing Howard’s shoulder softly, “let’s get you some tea and a cool flannel.” He flashed a small smile at Howard, who nodded dumbly. “Just let me, uh, get changed first. You go lie down on the couch and wait for me, yeah?”

Howard nodded as Vince carefully gathered his towel around himself and edged out of the bathroom, careful not to let Howard see the conspicuous bulge underneath the fabric.

Back in the bedroom, Vince stared down at his erection, which was stubbornly refusing to soften. He couldn’t stop thinking about Howard’s gently-rounded tits and stomach. For a moment, he contemplated sneaking in a quick wank while Howard waited for him to make tea, but he decided against it. Such fantasies were better saved for a moment when he could indulge them completely, so Vince stepped into his pants and trousers, then pulled a long, flowing tunic over his head, hoping that Howard wouldn’t notice if he had a stiffie under his clothes. He congratulated himself on his uncanny ability to solve all problems with fashion before turning and heading to the kitchen. 

While he waited for Vince to make him his tea, Howard lay on the couch with the cool, damp flannel Vince had prepared for him over his eyes, which were itchy and red from crying. It helped, but Howard couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Everything about this was weird--not just because Howard was pregnant, but because of the way that Vince had been fawning over him ever since he’d gotten the news that he was expecting. 

The last couple of months had been a strange reversal of their usual roles. Ever since they’d been kids, Howard had been the one taking care of Vince and fussing over him. Even when they’d been in primary school, Howard had noticed that Vince often had neither lunch nor lunch money, and he’d begun packing an extra sandwich so Vince would never have to go hungry. He’d taken Vince under his wing and protected him from bullies, defending his honor even when it meant that Howard got a black eye himself for his efforts. As adults, Howard had always made sure that his friend ate proper meals instead of stuffing himself on Jaffa cakes and strawberry bootlaces, and when they’d been at the Zooniverse, he’d taken Vince on as a protege and taught him everything he knew about caring for the animals.

But lately Vince had been the one taking care of _Howard_. He was still an abysmal cook, and thought that jellybaby pancakes constituted a proper meal, but he was trying. He’d been the one to fetch the fancy fig-and-lavender ice cream that Howard craved at two in the morning, and he’d indulged every one of Howard’s strange pregnancy cravings, even the disgusting ones like anchovy and peanut butter sandwiches. He’d been careful to avoid making fun of Howard when he cried at commercials, and soothed him when his mood swings sent him into a strop that rivaled that of a particularly badly-behaved toddler. 

Even now, Vince was puttering around the kitchen, preparing tea with all of Howard’s favorite little snacks while Howard lay on the couch like a spoiled housecat. Part of Howard thrilled at the attention, while another part of him just felt uncomfortable. Howard wasn’t used to being taken care of--his parents had been indifferent at best, his friends (with the exception of Vince... well... most of the time) all seemed to dislike him, and every boss he’d ever had had been borderline abusive to him. 

A clattering sound disturbed Howard from his contemplation. “Feeling better yet?” Vince asked as he plopped the tray of tea and treats onto the table. 

Howard removed the flannel from his face and sat up, budging over so Vince could sit next to him on the couch. “Kind of,” he said. His eyes were no longer itchy and his stomach had settled, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the world had gone a bit wrong ever since he’d gotten himself pregnant with an alien baby. He didn’t trust himself to explain in a way that wouldn’t upset Vince, who was trying so hard to make Howard comfortable. 

Vince handed him a steaming mug, and Howard took a careful sip. It was hot and wet like tea, but it didn’t taste like tea. He raised a suspicious eyebrow at Vince.

“It’s peppermint,” Vince explained. “It’s supposed to be good for your stomach.”

Howard took another sip and considered. It still didn’t taste like tea, but it was better than the other herbal blends Vince forced him to drink with the explanation that caffeine was bad for the baby. “It’s good,” Howard admitted. “I miss proper tea though.”

“In a few months, you’ll be able to drink tea again,” Vince shrugged, taking a sip of his own mug, which was milky and sugary but smelled like actual tea. Howard felt a pang of jealousy, which he promptly stifled. “Unless you’re planning on breastfeeding the baby. You’ll have to wait until the nipper is weaned.”

“Ugh,” Howard groaned. He’d barely come to terms with the fact that he was pregnant; he hadn’t thought about what would happen _after_ the baby was born. “Do alien babies even drink breast milk?”

“Dunno,” Vince said. “They’ll be half-human at least, and you’re growing breasts and all, so... maybe?”

Howard shuddered and crossed his arms over his... breasts. “Thanks for reminding me.” 

“Don’t see what the big deal is,” Vince muttered. “I already _told_ you... they’re nice tits. _Really_ nice tits.” He was staring at Howard’s chest again, an inscrutable expression on his face. 

“What are you staring at my tits for, you pervert?” Howard grumbled, but there was no malice in it. Vince... liked his tits? The concept was too strange for Howard to consider. 

“I’m not _staring,_ ” Vince said, though his eyes were still focused on Howard’s chest. “Well, maybe I am, a little bit. But it’s not my fault--they’re very, very good tits!” He squirmed a bit, hoping Howard wouldn’t notice just _how_ nice Vince thought his tits were. 

It did not escape Howard’s notice that Vince hadn’t even tried to protest that he wasn’t a pervert. “You _slag_ ,” Howard said affectionately.

Vince blushed. “Shut up.” He fidgeted a bit more before reaching for a biscuit. “Is your stomach settled enough to eat? I got you some more of the little blueberry cakes and those lemon squares you like so much.”

Howard shoved one of each cake into his mouth at the same time. Around a mouthful of cake, he asked, “Do you really think I’ll be breastfeeding?” He was curious to know the answer, as none of the books he’d checked out of the library addressed the phenomenon of lactation in a man pregnant with a half-alien baby.

Vince shrugged, trying not to stare too obviously at Howard’s tits. “Dunno,” he admitted. “Guess we should ask Naboo at your next prenatal, yeah?”

“God, this is so... weird,” Howard admitted. 

Vince threw his head back and laughed. Between giggles, he began to recite a crimp. “Alien spaceship, in the night time sky--”

Howard joined in. “Alien spaceship, go passing right on by--”

The two men grinned at each other. “Tentacle, tentacle, boing boing! Tentacle tentacle, green men!”

“Alien baby, knowing you is so much fun!”

Vince grinned dangerously. “Alien baby, growing in Howard’s bum--”

Howard gave an inarticulate yelp, then slapped Vince playfully on his arm. “You’re making me sound like a slag!”

“You _are_ a slag! Getting pregnant on the first date and all,” Vince teased. Vince, ever shameless, kept laughing, until Howard had no choice but to laugh along with him. Ridiculous as the situation was, Howard knew, somehow, that it was going to turn out just fine, as long as he and Vince could laugh at life’s absurdities together.


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it comes down to the Crunch, Vince and Howard can always count on the Shaman Council. After a sober--and successful--exorcism, Naboo and Bollo move into the attic while Vince and Howard begin preparing the nursery. Vince surprises Howard with his sewing skills.

Within days, Naboo and Bollo had managed to pack most of their stuff out of their small bedroom. While Vince thought the idea of packing all of one’s earthly possessions to move sounded like a Herculean task, it was really the ghoul in the attic that Naboo found more challenging. As he had mentioned before, a proper exorcism required stone cold sobriety in order to be effective, and Naboo couldn’t remember the last time he’d been sober on Earth. 

Howard and Vince decided between themselves that they would stay as far away from the exorcism process as possible. For one thing, after the Nanageddon incident, both men had developed a healthy fear of the occult. For another, Naboo was cranky and terrible to be around leading up to the big event. During the exorcism, the two men sequestered themselves in their shared room, Vince sketching out the mural he planned to paint in Naboo’s room, Howard making lists of things they’d need to obtain for the nursery once it was ready. 

They heard what sounded like a parade coming up the stairs and knew the rest of the Shaman Council had arrived at the flat to assist with the difficult exorcism. Though the words were indistinguishable, they heard Tony Harrison’s nasal whining, the low grumblings of Saboo’s sarcasm, and the oddly chipper voice of Dennis. 

“That’s a motley crew for sure, innit?” asked Vince, chuckling a little. 

Howard smiled. “Can’t fault them, though. They’ve been really good about all of this. Frankly, without their help, I’m not sure how we would have made it.” He had originally meant Vince and himself, but absently rubbed his bump, and included the baby in the sentiment as well.

Vince nodded his assent. “That’s true. They’re a bunch of strung out weirdos, but they’re all right, when it comes down to the Crunch.” 

“This is the Crunch, then?” Howard asked. 

“To be honest, I have no idea _what_ , exactly, the Crunch is,” Vince admitted, twirling a lock of hair between his fingers. “I’m pretty sure it’s a state of mind and not like, an actual place, and this kind of feels... crunchy, doesn’t it?”

Howard was nearing his fifth month of pregnancy, and judging from the ever-growing list of tasks yet to be done and supplies yet to be purchased, he was feeling rather.... crunched. “Nothing crunchier than unplanned alien impregnation, sir,” Howard replied, grinning. His moods seemed to have evened out lately, and Vince hoped maybe he was getting some of the happy pregnancy hormones instead of the sad and irritable ones. 

Unbeknownst to Vince, Howard was indeed experiencing some positive hormonal effects. The pregnancy books hadn’t been lying when they’d said Howard would experience a sudden and intense increase in sex drive during the second trimester. Perhaps his good mood could be attributed to all the time Howard spent wanking with his fingers up his bum, teasing at the little gland that had made his alien encounter almost... pleasurable.

Their conversation was halted as they both strained to listen to the ruckus from upstairs. They couldn’t tell what, exactly, was happening, but it sounded a little frightening. There were mysterious thumps and clomps, a shrill laugh, something that sounded like chanting, a very distinct cry of, “Oh, shit!” and then silence, punctuated by rhythmic footfalls. Howard and Vince kept their eyes on each other, listening anxiously, their tasks forgotten. It reminded Vince of when he’d tried to eavesdrop as a child--he got the same niggling feeling at the back of his neck that he’d had when he tried to remain still and quiet to overhear whatever details he could manage. 

As suddenly as it had begun, the ruckus subsided. Immediately afterwards, the apartment felt different--lighter, somehow, and more spacious. 

“Huh,” Vince mused, “wonder if they’ve got rid of that ghoul.”

“It certainly feels like it,” Howard said primly. 

A cacophonous whooping sounded from above, followed by Naboo’s unmistakable lisping shout. “Finally! C’mon ballbags, let’s go get high!”

A riot of footfalls echoed as the Shaman Council raced downstairs to the kitchen, where Naboo kept his drugs. Vince nodded to the door. “Think it’s safe to leave the room now?”

“I sure hope so,” Howard muttered. “I’m craving a blueberry jam and sardine sandwich something awful right now.”

Vince pushed his sketchbook off of his lap and jumped to his feet. Howard, weighted down by his bump, which had grown rather large and cumbersome, struggled to push himself off the bed, which made Vince smile softly and offer him a helping hand. Howard accepted the help gratefully, letting Vince pull him to his feet without bothering to protest that he could do it himself. He was learning that he didn’t _have_ to do things by himself, especially if he had Vince to make things easier.

The Shaman Council was sprawled over the living room furniture, looking sickly and exhausted--well, everyone except Dennis, who was bright-eyed and alert.

“What happened to you lot?” Vince asked before he could think better of it.

Saboo held his head in his hands and groaned. “Sobriety.” 

The rest of the council groaned in agreement--again, except for Dennis. “Sobriety is a wonderful thing,” he crowed. “I can see everything so clearly. Seriously, you should all try this more often--”

“Shut up and _die_ ,” Naboo growled dangerously.

“You heard him, go take a dirt nap, you bald shithead,” Tony Harrison added, looking a little gray rather than his usual bright pink. 

“I take it the exorcism was a success?” Howard asked.

Naboo bared his teeth. It was a terrifying thing, and Howard jumped. “It went _fine_ ,” he hissed. “But the next person who dares to speak to me before I’ve had my morning hookah is getting turned into a _newt._ ” 

Silently, neither man wishing to be turned into newts, Howard and Vince flitted around the kitchen. Howard busied himself with the business of making tea, while Vince focused on trying not to gag as he prepared Howard’s disgusting sandwich. Howard had a lot of weird cravings, but Vince considered his obsession with sardines to be the worst of it--the small, briny fish were pungent-smelling, slippery, _and_ they still had their heads on. It was rather discomfiting, but the baby craved what the baby craved, and Vince had no intention of denying either the baby or Howard anything.

At the same time Vince was going about the delicate procedure of making his pregnant… friend his sandwich, Naboo was going about the equally delicate process of creating the most potent mix of drugs possible without causing immediate death. He reached over Vince and his nasty sandwich for a glass on the counter, only to have his hand smacked away with a scolding, “Oi! None of that! What if you get drugs in Howard’s sandwich?” Vince had snatched the plate away and held it aloft, high above either of their heads, his eyes wide in panic and his voice getting shrill and shrewish. “How’s the baby going to react to intergalactic drugs, yeah? Just think about what you’re doing, Naboo!” 

Saboo stood. “Once again, Naboo, we feel _really_ welcome in your home. Remind me again why we’ve agreed to support these two arse-clowns through their idiotic pregnancy farce.” The black-clad Shaman rose, appearing taller than usual as he stalked towards Vince who was still holding the sandwich at a comically high altitude. “Don’t you _dare_ talk to Naboo that way, you mewling fishwife, or dare speak to _any_ member of the High Shaman Council of Xooberon, Centauri, and the Local Cluster in that manner _ever_ again, or I swear, by my own damnable life--” 

  
“Enough, Saboo, stop threatening her,” Dennis called, making his voice both authoritative and sympathetic. “We do not speak to the fairer sex this way. The poor thing will weep in a moment, and I cannot stand female histrionics.” 

“We’ve already established that Vince is, despite all evidence to the contrary, male,” spat Saboo. 

“Oh,” Dennis stammered, cocking his head like a confused puppy. “Right. Well, er… this is all uncalled for. We will simply go wait upstairs in the now ghoul-free attic, while Naboo settles this domestic _civilly.”_ Dennis stood and made his way towards the stairs. “Tony Harrison, Saboo, Kirk. Follow me.” The three Shaman in question did not follow Dennis, but proceeded to make a series of rude faces and gestures behind his back before deciding that it was, perhaps, best to get out of the way and await Naboo’s arrival with “the good stuff.” 

“I guess I can wait to get the drugs until you’re done making the sandwiches,” Naboo conceded. 

“Yes, thank you,” Vince said, not a little snidely. He returned to his task, making sure to add just the right ratio of blueberry jam to sardines, then cut the crusts off just the way that Howard liked.

“Earth babies are so sensitive,” Naboo griped. “My mum smoked crack and PCP and weed and ate all kinds of hallucinogenic substances when she was pregnant with me, and I turned out fine.”

“The, uh, population of Xooberon must be made of sterner stuff that we mere humans,” Howard blustered. “My research indicates that babies who are born to drug-addicted, uh, _bearers_ , suffer from withdrawal. They cry and cry and are prone to behavior issues and learning disabilities later in life, and no sir, that’s not a chance that Howard Moon is willing to take with his baby, half-alien or not.”

“I dunno,” Naboo said, sounding unconvinced. “I still think you should give that herbal tincture a try. Good for morning sickness and helps with emotional distress--”

“I am _not_ emotionally distressed!” Howard shouted, slamming his fist onto the kitchen counter. Unfortunately, he managed to slam it directly onto the sharp edge of the knife Vince had been using to spread jam on the sandwiches. He yelped in pain and distress, leaking tears as he realized that he was leaking blood.

“Oh, Howard, look what you’ve done,” Vince clucked. He led a shellshocked Howard over to the sink, washing his wound clean and fussing over the blubbering pregnant fool.

Naboo was an opportunist at heart. He knew an opening when he saw one, and while Vince and Howard were otherwise occupied, he set about emptying the kitchen cupboards of his much-needed drugs. He did, however, leave a small bottle of his most potent medicinal marijuana tincture conspicuously on the counter for Howard. _Not_ _emotionally distressed, indeed_ , Naboo snorted. Well, no one had ever accused Howard of being self-aware. After all, he’d mistakenly believed himself to be a virgin despite having had numerous sexual encounters, each one more depraved than the last.

And then there was that simmering, unconsummated sexual tension thing his flatmates were steadfastly ignoring...

Naboo shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the vivid, horrific images such thoughts conjured. He’d better hurry up and get high quick. Sobriety was dangerously close to madness.

  


Once Bollo and Naboo’s old bedroom had been thoroughly cleaned and aired out to get rid of the pervasive smell of marijuana (and smudged, in secret, at night by its former occupants to clear out any potential lingering bad juju), Howard and Vince started working on the baby’s nursery. Vince was practically vibrating with excitement, and it was contagious--even Howard was cautiously optimistic about the whole thing. 

Howard insisted that they paint the walls a neutral gray after reading that it was a soothing color, to which Vince only agreed after Howard grudgingly allowed him to paint the trim electric purple. As soon as the base coat was dry, Vince started in on the mural, while Howard was theoretically supposed to be assembling the baby furniture they’d acquired thus far (a bookshelf and a small changing table), but no matter how many times he cursed and kicked at the pile of wood and hardware, they refused to assemble themselves. He squinted at the instructions, but they made no more sense than they had twenty minutes ago, so Howard gave up and let himself watch Vince work. 

Watching Vince paint was a piece of art in itself. Vince painted like he was dancing, flinging his whole body into the process, one moment on tiptoe, another crouching down low next to the floorboards, pirouetting across the room paintbrush in hand. He bobbed his head in time to music audible only to himself as he recreated the iconic storybook characters. Howard noticed Vince’s grin, soft and small, when he mixed greens and blues for the jungle foliage, and knew he was drawing on long-ago memories to get the colors just right. 

Vince’s grin widened as he caught Howard watching him. 

Vince had always enjoyed watching Howard work, even back at the zoo when the work had been preparing animal feed and mucking out enclosures. He got the same thrill now, watching him puzzle over furniture assembly instructions. Howard looked _well_ masculine, his hair thick and curling, his moustache immaculately groomed, his strong, nimble fingers knowing just how to use the tools… Vince’s heart fluttered. Well, he looked masculine except for the baby bump, amended Vince in his head. Seeing Howard’s skilled hands working with tools negated the innate femininity of pregnancy. This was part of why Vince had always admired Howard. He wished, sometimes, that _he_ was more masculine. Not often, and certainly not if that meant he had to adopt Howard’s dismal sense of style. But sometimes he wished people would look at him and think, “That Vince, he’s well manly,” instead of “There goes Howard Moon’s ugly wife-slash-girlfriend.” 

He grinned, though. He didn’t mind being Howard’s ugly girlfriend, not really. 

“How’s the furniture coming along?” he asked.

Howard glared down at the pile of boards and screws in front of him. “Fine,” he lied. He squinted at the diagram again, but it remained as incomprehensible as ever. Assembling Ikea furniture was man’s work. It should come easily to him, but Howard was struggling. Maybe the pregnancy hormones were messing with his head...? Perhaps instead of trying to do manly things like use tools, he should try his hand at sewing some curtains, or knitting a blanket or something more suited to someone in his, ahem, _delicate_ condition.... 

Frustrated, Howard crumpled the papers in his hand, then smoothed them out again. They made no more sense than they had before he’d wrinkled them all up.

Vince, who knew Howard well enough to know when he was lying, put his paintbrush down and wandered over where Howard was crouched down on the floor, scowling at the instructions. Howard startled when Vince sat down beside him, but budged over to make room, nonetheless. 

“Can I have a peek?” Vince asked.

Howard handed him the crumpled instruction booklet. “You can have a look, little man, but this is some real complex stuff...”

“Nah,” Vince shrugged, “it’s easy. You take _that_ and join it to _that_ using _this_....”

Between the two of them, Vince reading the instructions, and Howard using the tools, they managed to assemble the bookshelf in no time.

Howard was content to sit back on his haunches and admire his handiwork, but Vince had other ideas.

He pursed his lips, staring at the empty shelves. “I know just what this shelf needs,” he muttered, then abruptly exited the room. He returned moments later holding a lumpy stuffed llama and a handful of other toys, then spent several minutes arranging the items until they were perfectly placed according to some aesthetic criteria only Vince knew.

“This is a _bookshelf_ , you know,” Howard groused. His pedantic side was perturbed by Vince’s unorthodox use of a shelf designed for books.

“Piss off,” Vince said, though he sounded more cheerful than one would expect after having been chided by Howard for his disrespect of the bookshelf’s designed purpose. “The baby won’t be able to read until it’s older. They’ll want to have lots of shiny, pretty things to look at in the meantime, though!”

Howard picked up the lumpy stuffed llama, turning it over in his hand. It was a patchwork of bright, shiny fabrics and clashing colors; though full of lumps, it was undoubtedly a llama. The little thing was hideous, but it made Howard smile and remember the zoo times, how much Vince had loved the llamas and alpacas. The notoriously bad-tempered dromedaries had been just as charmed by Vince as he was by them; they never spat at Vince, though Howard had more than a few memories of being spat on by a llama. “Did you make this, Vince?”

Vince flushed. “Yeah.” He paused a second, then continued, “I’ve been making lots of stuff for the baby.” 

Howard couldn’t help the affection bubbling up inside him as he asked, smiling, “What kinds of things have you made?”

Vince grinned, “Well, some simple stuffed toys, a pillow. Made some onesies, too. Want to see them?”

“Yes,” Howard answered eagerly. Vince nearly bounced from the nursery to their bedroom where he proceeded to show Howard the yards of colorful fabric and the collection of tiny little jumpsuits he’d created. Seeing them sparked something in Howard. They were, frankly, adorable because they were so tiny. Looking at them, holding them, made Howard realize again that this was really happening, he really _was_ having a baby: in just a few month’s time, he would give birth to a half-human, half-alien child. Howard was so enamored with Vince in that moment, so in awe of his talent and appreciative of his loyalty that emotion threatened to overwhelm him. 

“These are… incredible, Vince,” he said, voice thick with emotion. 

“You mean that, Howard?” Vince asked, his wide blue eyes looking up at Howard, visibly eating up the praise. 

“Absolutely. You’re like the Jean Claude Jacquettie of babywear.” 

VInce toed the ground bashfully, blushing. “Aw, come off it, Howard.” Carefully, Vince folded away the rest of his fabrics, but as he did so a Hawaiian print caught Howard’s eye. 

“What’s that, little man?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him. 

“Oh, nothing,” said Vince, trying to stash the beige-colored fabrics away quickly. 

“Let me see, Vince!” commanded Howard, as he reached for the material. With an air of defeat, Vince let Howard take the brown stuff from the pile. Vince blushed again, this time in embarrassment rather than flattery. 

“I’ve been making a lot of stuff for the baby,” Vince said softly and self-consciously, “it seemed only fair that I make you something too.”

What Howard had thought were scraps of brown fabric were, in fact, a top and some trousers that were not baby-sized. 

The top was fashioned from a subtle Hawaiian-print fabric that cinched a bit beneath the bust, but was loose and flowy around the middle. The trousers were fashioned out of a soft khaki corduroy. They looked normal enough at first glance, but closer inspection revealed that instead of the usual button and fly, the high waistband was made of a thick, stretchy material.

“It’s for your bump,” Vince said softly, as if sensing Howard’s skepticism. “S’posed to be supportive, you know, help with the back pain from carrying around a great big belly all day--”

He didn’t get a chance to finish what he’d meant to say, because Howard had flung his arms around him in a great big bear hug, crushing Vince’s face into his chest. It was a bit too tight to be comfortable, but Vince didn’t dare complain. Though Howard had become more comfortable with physical contact in recent months, he rarely initiated. Besides, Vince rather liked having his face smushed into Howard’s tits. After all, he’d been admiring them from afar for weeks, and he planned to make the most of this opportunity to get a closer look. 

Beneath the scratchy wool of his roll-neck, Howard’s tits were a curious mix of soft and firm. Vince considered himself as a sort of connoisseur of tits, as he’d examined many a pair up close and personally. Howard’s tits were perfect--not too big, not too small, soft but not too soft, nipples poking through the knit fabric of his sweater. Vince fought the urge to rub his face in them, and failed.

Howard stood, still holding Vince in a fierce, close hug, momentarily taken aback when Vince, for lack of a better term, began nuzzling his breasts. He and Vince shared a deep and beautiful friendship, often misunderstood by others, but even after taking that into consideration, Howard had the feeling that there was something decidedly non-platonic about the way Vince was rubbing his face against Howard’s chest. Curiously, Howard realized that he did not mind--and if he was being honest with himself, Vince’s affectionate nuzzling thrilled him in a decidedly erotic manner.

He knew he should put a stop to it, but could not bring himself to do so. At least until Vince sighed, his soft breath ghosting against Howard’s nipple, sending a jolt of sensation down his spine and between his legs. 

Reluctantly, Howard released his hold on Vince, who gave a little whimper when he let go. 

For his part, Vince was not a little disappointed that the impromptu cuddle had come to an end. He wasn’t nearly close to being done with his appreciation of Howard’s very excellent pregnancy tits. Vince awkwardly shuffled his weight from one foot to another and cleared his throat. “You should try them on. Make sure they fit and all,” he said softly, his voice a bit raw. 

Luckily Howard gave no indication that he had noticed anything untoward about Vince’s wholly unsubtle attempt to bury his face in Howard’s cleavage. He stripped down to his pants, ignoring the way that Vince’s eyes ran over his nearly-naked body, dressing himself in the clothing Vince had sewn for him. Both the top and trousers fit perfectly.

Howard had never worn clothes that fit properly--they were always too short in the arms and torso, too tight across his middle, or sagged around his arse. While Vince had always insisted on tailoring his clothes, adamant that fit was everything, Howard had been skeptical. Clothes were clothes, and as long as they covered his nakedness, Howard was generally indifferent to the finer points of fashion. Yet he had to admit that the clothes Vince had made especially for him looked better than anything he’d ever worn before in his life.

Instead of looking dumpy and pudgy, Howard looked _good_. The stretchy waistband of the trousers wasn’t too tight, as Howard had feared, nor did it squish his bump as if to minimize it. Instead, the stretchy fabric was supportive enough that his belly immediately felt less cumbersome and uncomfortable. And the top--the top emphasized his bump, neither minimizing it, nor exaggerating it. He’d felt ungainly and bloated for most of his pregnancy, but wearing the clothes Vince had made for him, Howard felt something he’d never felt before--he felt _sexy._

He gazed at himself in Vince’s mirrors, turning to catch a glimpse of himself from multiple angles, satisfied to discover the he looked good from each of them. He’d been a little worried that the cinched top would make him look too feminine, but the drape of the fabric emphasized his bump more than his tits, for which Howard was grateful. He looked less like a woman and more like a pregnant man, more _luscious_ than curvy. 

Howard was interrupted from his contemplation of his reflection by a low, gravelly gasping sound. He looked over his shoulder, surprised to find Vince staring at him, open-mouthed and utterly transfixed.

“Thank you, Vince,” he said, flushing a bit. 

Vince startled, clamping his mouth shut, mumbling something unintelligible.

Howard asked him to repeat himself. 

“You look--good,” Vince said, swallowing. It was only half the truth--Howard looked _amazing._

“I love them,” Howard said, throwing a shape as he preened. The self-conscious feeling he’d always had regarding his body was rapidly dissipating, being replaced by a confidence that he’d always assumed only beautiful, skinny people like Vince ever felt about their appearance. Perhaps he’d been a bit quick to judge when Vince insisted that Howard would look better if he’d allowed him to tailor his clothing properly. “This is some kind of fashion voodoo, Vince! How in the world did you get these to fit so perfectly?” His brow crinkled in confusion. “I don’t remember you ever taking my measurements...”

“I didn’t need to,” Vince blustered, desperate to distract Howard from his current train of thought lest he stumble upon Vince’s more-than-platonic appreciation for his pregnant physique. “I see you every day, don’t I, Howard?” If Vince was being honest, he’d done more than _see_ \--he’d stared, examined, committing Howard’s dimensions to memory with the precision of a cartographer mapping a much-loved landscape. He could draw Howard from memory, without a picture, without even a pencil. Cutting and sewing the fabric for Howard’s perfectly-fitting top and trousers had been the easiest thing in the world, much easier than assembling the myriad of baby clothes he’d sewn from patterns he’d found at the library during one of Howard’s many pregnancy fact-finding pilgrimages. 

Howard hummed, contemplating. He saw Vince every day, but he was sure that he would have been unable to name which size trousers Vince wore if he’d been asked. The fact that Vince had sewn him such flattering clothing from memory hinted at something--if only Howard could say exactly what that something could be...

“Thank you, Vince,” he said, because he did not know how else to respond to Vince’s admission. “I’ve never owned anything that fit so well before.”

“You can say _that_ again,” Vince said, the teasing note in his voice making Howard flush. 

Vince joined Howard in front of the mirror, encouraging him to pull shapes, even giving Howard some pointers that various band frontmen throughout London would have paid a pretty penny for. The paint was drying in the nursery, the Shaman were getting high in the attic, and all was, for the moment, well in the flat above the Nabootique. 


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saboo and Tony Harrison, true to their word, use their expertise in Sex Law to help Howard advance his wrongful impregnation suit against the Uranians. Of course, this means the Shaman Council must summon an almighty reality-television judge to serve intergalactic justice. Howard and Vince go along for the ride.

Howard smoothed his sweating palms over his thighs. He was wearing the clothes Vince had made for him, and despite the increased confidence he felt whenever he wore them, he was still fraught with anxiety. He was so nervous that his palms left a dark streak on the fabric of this trousers. “Bloody heck,” he cursed, hoping the fabric would not stain permanently. 

Today’s appointment was more than just another prenatal checkup. Today was the date of the ritual that would formalize his interplanetary paternity suit against the aliens from Uranus who had impregnated him. Naboo had described the ritual to Howard and Vince in great detail, which seemed to involve a lot of psychedelic substances, chanting, and summoning an all-powerful judge whose final word was law. It all seemed rather arcane and absurd to Howard, but then again, Howard was no expert in intergalactic sex law, so he had no choice but to trust the Shaman Council’s guidance in such matters. 

Howard’s nerves were shattering for another reason: Naboo had warned him that today’s ritual would also reveal the baby’s sex. At twenty-one weeks, Howard was now solidly in the second half of his pregnancy. He’d experienced many moments that had made the pregnancy feel real, but somehow knowing whether he was expecting a little boy-alien or girl-alien was the realest moment yet. 

He and Vince had awakened early out of anticipation. Neither had much of an appetite, but Vince had steadfastly refused to allow Howard to skip breakfast. To placate him, Howard choked down a few crumbs of a blueberry scone and a few sips of the ominously-named “Morning Glory” herbal tea that Vince had foisted upon him, while Vince sipped something that was more sugar than tea. Vince was nervously bouncing his leg in a manner that would ordinarily irritate Howard, except Howard was so nervous himself that he couldn’t find it within himself to mind. After their awkward not-breakfast, they took turns pacing around the flat, looking out the windows, and waiting for Naboo to come downstairs. 

After what seemed like hours, they finally heard the clomping of a small Shaman and his gorilla familiar descending the stairs. 

“Finally,” Vince muttered under his breath, fluffing his hair as though Howard’s DNA test and appointment with the Shaman Council had anything to do with the appearance of his hair.  
“Are you two ready to go?”

“Yes,” Howard stammered nervously, straightening his collar at the same time Vince whined, “We’ve only been waiting for days!” 

Naboo ignored both of them with a practiced air, and led them downstairs to the shop where they unrolled and boarded the carpet. 

Neither Howard nor Vince ever remembered much about carpet travel. Howard was sure they were flying in and out of dimensions, but it seemed to him that they got on the carpet and within the blink of an eye, they arrived at their destination. He knew Vince was a little weirded out by it, too, but Vince had the option of turning off that section of his brain that overanalyzed things. Howard did not have that luxury, and so wondered if there was a portal they went through, or if Naboo rendered them unconscious via magic, or if they actually flew through space to reach Xooberon and if so, how did gravity and oxygen work?

Luckily, travelling through time and space on a magic carpet didn’t take long at all. Before Howard could lose himself completely in the spiralling anxiety of his thoughts, the carpet landed in the middle of a small clearing inside a dark, dense Xooberonian forest.

Once again, Howard found himself facing the Shaman Council. He had grown a little more used to being in their presence since they seemed to spend every weekend at the Nabootique (and also, for some reason, the entire Council insisted on being present at each of Howard’s monthly prenatal checkups), but seeing them like this, formally dressed and on their home base, always made Howard feel like he’d been summoned to the headmaster’s office at school. 

Fortunately, the illusion was broken the instant that the first Shaman opened their mouth to speak.

“Naboo, Bollo,” Dennis began, obviously making an effort to sound official, “you know that when we assemble for our formal council meetings, regulation robes are required.” 

Naboo rolled his eyes like he’d been chided for breaking dress code at school. “All right, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” 

“The knickers his mum laid out for him!” leered Tony Harrison, drawing a smirk from Saboo and a giggle from Kirk. 

Naboo scowled, snapped his fingers, and muttered a lisping incantation. A moment later, he and Bollo were clad in the same flowing, hooded robes as the rest of the Council. 

It was all so ridiculous that Howard began to feel a bit more at ease. 

Dennis cleared his throat. “Now let us gather around the firepit, and commence the summoning ceremony!”

The Shaman, the two Earthlings, and Bollo sat in a circle around the large stone firepit in the middle of the clearing. The Xooberonian sun was low in the sky, dusk settling over the forest. The ritual reminded Howard of the camping trips his family had taken as a child, especially when Saboo and Tony Harrison began bickering over the precise arrangement of tinder for the ritual pyre. They sounded almost exactly like his parents, arguing over the proper way to build a campfire. 

“A little to the left,” Tony Harrison instructed.

Saboo tried to move the twig he was holding a bit to the left, causing the entire structure to collapse.

“Jenga!” yelled Tony Harrison, his manic grin split across his face. 

Saboo scowled. “I don’t see you trying to build the pyre,” he griped. “Oh right, you can’t, because you don’t have any arms.”

“I might not have arms, but I come fully equipped with a papoose! It’s your own damned fault for refusing to wear the papoose and take advantage of my expertise in pyre assembly!”

“I’ve said it before, and I will say it again--I will never wear any garment that forces me to cradle your testicular-shaped cranium against my body!”

Howard had to concede that his parents had never had precisely that sort of argument over the campfire, but the spirit was the same. 

“Behave! You are lighting the sacred fire!” Dennis tried to get his unruly Shaman under control. Saboo and Tony Harrison ignored the Head Shaman in favor of continuing to hurl insults at one another. 

“Ugh,” Naboo scoffed. “Looks like you ‘n’ me have to do everything, like always, eh, Bollo?”

“Bollo not mind,” Bollo said. “Bollo good at making pyres.”

Naboo rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know you like burning shit, you pyromaniac.” He and Bollo crouched around the firepit, stacking the tinder into an architectural shape that vaguely resembled a judge’s gavel.

“Now we must add the sacred herb,” Dennis said with a flourish.

“What’s the ‘sacred herb’?” Vince had his suspicions about the nature of the so-called sacred herb, and his instinct to protect both Howard and the baby from the dangerous fumes flared. 

“Humbolt County marijuana,” Naboo told Vince. 

“I mean, is that strictly necessary?” Vince asked. “Howard probably shouldn’t be breathing any fumes, what with his condition and all...”

The Shaman Council looked at the two Earth men with shock and horror writ clearly on their features.

“This is heresy!” proclaimed Saboo. “Everyone knows that The Almighty Judge can only be summoned with the finest of Californian medical-grade marijuana products.”

“She’s an American celebrity,” Tony Harrison added, “and can’t be bothered with interdimensional apararition unless you provide her with drugs that are at least equal, if not superior, to those she can purchase at her local dispensary.”

“Well, can Howard at least have some kind of oxygen tank or something?”

“I knew this would happen,” Naboo grumbled, reaching into his robes to extract a respirator, which he handed to a confused-looking Howard. “Personally, I don’t understand your human prudishness regarding the exposure of a fetus to a plant with as many therapeutic properties as marijuana, but--”

“Remind me again why you’re the one in charge of all my prenatal checkups,” Howard griped, but he put the mask on over his head. It fit well enough, though it made an ominous wheezing sound as he breathed, and made his moustache prickle against his face. Still, he supposed it was preferable to breathing in the fumes.

“Well, we did try to find an Earth doctor, but we kept getting referrals to the psych ward, not the maternity ward,” Vince reminded him. “Naboo is the only being on Earth qualified to deal with male pregnancy...”

“It’s true,” Naboo said. “I read a book on it, Facts for Reading While You’re Breeding.” 

“Go ahead and toss some cocaine in there,” Kirk said. “Those American reality stars love their cocaine.”

Naboo reached into his robes and pulled out a bag filled with white powder. “This is from my personal stash,” he lisped. “I don’t know why I’m the one who always has to bring the drugs to these things...”

“Simple,” Tony Harrison remarked. “You’ve got the best drugs out of all of us.”

“Those Hollywood types don’t show up for anything but the best,” Kirk added. 

“I wonder who the celebrity is,” Vince whispered to Howard. “I hope it’s Alice Cooper.” 

“Maybe it’s Herbie Hancock,” Howard breathed excitedly. Vince had no idea who that was, but they sounded jazzy. 

Since the pyre was complete and the offerings laid out, Bollo grinned and lit a match. The flame illuminated the completely maniacal look he had on his face. His expression made Howard shiver, and he made a mental note never to leave the baby alone with Bollo as the gorilla bared his teeth and tossed the match into the pyre. The wooden structure ignited with a whoosh, illuminating the dark forest. 

Dennis stood, holding his arms out, palms up in a gesture of supplication. The voluminous sleeves of his robe dangled dangerously close to the jumping flames of the bonfire. “We are gathered here today to summon The Almighty Judge to seek her assistance and council in Moon vs. The Aliens,” Dennis intoned. “The Almighty Judge is a beacon of justice and righteousness, a--”

“Shove off, you pretentious pissant, and get the peyote,” Tony Harrison interrupted.

Dennis ignored him, huffing, “As I was saying, the Almighty Judge is a--”

“Blah, blah, we already know all this stuff. Let’s eat some peyote!” Kirk hollered. The other shaman whooped in agreement. 

Dennis attempted to ignore this blatant subordination by making a dramatic, sweeping movement with his arms. His gestures were perhaps a bit too dramatic, as the draped sleeves of his robes promptly caught fire. In a panic, Dennis stood stock still, while the rest of the Shaman Council passed around an ornate silver plate overflowing with peyote buttons.

Howard looked around for water to extinguish the Head Shaman, but none was to be found. Thinking quickly and falling back on the wilderness survival skill handbook he’d read that one time, Howard pushed Dennis to the ground and began throwing handfuls of dirt onto the flames. Vince was quick to join him in flinging dirt onto the Head Shaman. 

“What is the meaning of this impertinence?” Dennis scoffed. His robes were burnt and streaked with dirt as he lay on the ground, his dignity--as well as his regulation ritual robes--in tatters.

“I’m trying to save your life!” Howard grumbled. “Don’t you know anything about wilderness survival?”

“Oh, is that what we were doing?” Vince shrugged, tossing another handful of dirt at the prone Head Shaman.

“Of course that’s what we’re doing!” Howard exclaimed. “What did you think we were doing?”

“I dunno, throwing dirt on him for being a pretentious twat?” Vince asked.

Dennis sputtered, but he had to admit that Howard’s quick thinking had saved his life, so he kept his mouth shut. 

Naboo, who had been watching the whole scene with great amusement, handed Dennis the platter. Only a single button of peyote remained.

“Only one?” Dennis griped.

Naboo narrowed his eyes. “You know you can’t handle your drugs,” he griped. “Any more, and you’ll be too out of your mind to remember the incantation, and The Almighty Judge won’t show up if you don’t chant with us. You know that a minimum of five shaman are required for summoning rituals!”

Chagrined, Dennis pushed himself upright and ate the peyote.

Order restored to the proceedings, the Shaman gathered around the fire, throwing handfuls of marijuana and cocaine into the flames. The fire sparked and smoked as it consumed the offerings, and they began to chant in unison while Vince and Howard watched in anxious anticipation.

“Almighty Judge of Time and Space  
Be with us here in this place  
Humbly now we summon thee  
As we have asked, let it be.”

They chanted the incantation for several minutes until the smoke cleared. In its place stood a small, older woman who was definitely not Alice Cooper, nor any notable jazz musician. Vince doubted this lady was a musician at all, and wondered, for a moment, if the Council had accidentally summoned another demon masquerading as a Nana. 

The woman coughed, clearing the smoke from her face with her hand. “All right, all right,” a flinty female voice tinged with a definite New York accent spoke from the vanishing cloud. “Who summoned me? Was it you, Dennis?” She stepped from the smoke and shot a searing look at Dennis, who blushed and mumbled in response. 

“All right, Joodles?” Tony Harrison asked with a wink. 

“Oh,” said Judge Judy, smoothing her hair. “Hello, Mr. Harrison.” She nodded towards Saboo. “Saboo.” If Saboo could have blushed, he would have, but instead just cast his eyes downward. 

“Eeewww,” Vince whispered to Howard. “Did she do it with both of them? That is well nasty!” 

Howard cringed at the images Vince’s question conjured in his mind. He breathed slowly, trying not to vomit into his respirator as he attempted to banish the horrific thought from his mind. “Who is she?” Howard asked. She certainly did not resemble any American celebrity that he’d ever seen before.

“Who am I?” The small woman turned towards Howard and Vince, eyes flaming with anger. “I am the Honorable Judge Judith Sheindlin, Manhattan, New York. I have four Emmys, who the hell are you?”

Cowed by the amount of wrath contained in such a small body, Howard stammered, unable to say anything intelligible at all. 

“Vince Noir, Rock and Roll Star,” Vince answered quickly. The Almighty Judge Judy gave him the feeling that he was in trouble even though he hadn’t done anything wrong. “This is Howard. Howard Moon.” 

She appraised them quickly before turning again to Dennis. “Why am I here? I’m a very busy lady.” She gestured wildly to her wrist where a watch might have been, only there wasn’t one. The gesture still had its desired effect--showing all these nitwits that the Almighty Judge was not to be summoned for trifles and small talk. 

“We have summoned you here because the claimant, Mr. Howard Moon, is pursuing a case of parental legal custody and financial restitution against the planet Uranus,” Saboo explained, being the only member of the Council who seemed to have any working knowledge of the law at all. “The results of the DNA testing to take place today, in your presence, will determine whether the Uranians must offer financial support for the child they got on that... man,” here Saboo sneered, gesturing at Howard, “without his consent.”

“So,” said Judge Judy, turning to question Howard, “You were abducted by aliens and impregnated without consent?”

“Yes,” Howard answered. 

“‘Yes, your Honor!’” shouted Judge Judy. Howard flinched. 

“Y-yes, your Honor.” 

“Incredible. In my fifty years on the bench I’ve never heard anything like it.” Judge Judy eyed Howard with the precision of one who has spent decades identifying one’s moral character through a single assessing glance. “What is that on your face?” Judy asked.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. That’s just Howard’s moustache,” Vince answered. “I know it makes him look like a small-eyed rapist, but Howard’s practically a virgin, you know, mostly harmless. I keep tryna convince him to shave it off or let me trim it for him, but he’s strangely attached to the thing--”

“Of course I’m attached to my moustache!” Howard protested. “It’s attached to my face, which is the whole point of having a moustache, mind you...”

“Did I ask you? No!” Judge Judy snapped at Vince. “Sit down until you’re spoken to.” Vince sat obediently. “I didn’t mean the moustache, though I admit it is a bit dodgy-looking,” Judy mused. “I mean, the breathing apparatus... You aren’t ill, are you, young man?”

Howard felt oddly flattered. No one had ever called him young man, not even when he’d actually been young. Then again, Judge Judy had been an American reality television star for several decades; Howard supposed anyone under 60 would appear young to her. “No, just pregnant.”

“Remarkable. Leave it to the English to figure out pregnant men before the USA. I imagine this will be all the rage in about five years in the States. If I remember my Intergalactic Sex Law schooling correctly, the DNA percentage must be at least 46% Uranian for them to have any claim on the unborn, correct?”

“Correct, Your Honor,” said Tony Harrison. 

“Very well, let the testing begin. And make it snappy, I’ve got a show to film. If there’s anything I hate more than other television judges, it’s being kept waiting and deadbeat dads.” She nodded at Howard, “If this works, they’ll pay out the nose for what they did to you. You and your homely wife,” she added, nodding at Vince. 

“Vince isn’t my wife, he’s my…” 

“He?”

“Yes, your Honor,” Howard answered meekly. 

“My apologies, Mr. Noir,” she said, nodding at Vince. Her apology was succinct, but sincere. “Now that we’ve gotten all the required niceties done with, the collection of the required DNA sample shall commence.”

Naboo approached Howard, a scalpel, still in its sterile packaging, clutched in his hand. Saboo followed, holding a small vial, elaborately engraved with arcane symbols and filled with a purple liquid.

“Just give me your hand,” Naboo instructed. “We’re going to need a bit of your blood for this...”

Howard balked. He still wasn’t sure he trusted Naboo with either sharp objects, or his blood. Vince sensed his reluctance, putting an arm around Howard’s waist as he murmured, “Don’t worry, Howard. I’ve got you.”

Howard nodded, still scared despite his best efforts to be brave. Vince wrapped his hand around Howard’s wrist, coaxing the palm open as he held it towards Naboo, who unwrapped the scalpel from the packaging and held the blade to Howard’s skin. Howard closed his eyes--

A great thump sounded from somewhere beside him. When Howard opened his eyes, he saw Naboo muttering a healing spell to close the incision while Dennis lay sprawled on the ground in a dead faint. The rest of the Shaman ignored their fallen colleague.

“Is he... is he OK?” Howard asked, concerned.

Saboo rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry about Dennis, his tolerance for blood is even worse than his tolerance for drugs.”

“You should see him during our sacrificial ceremonies,” Tony Harrison said. “Pisses his knickers and rolls his eyes back in his head like a virginal schoolgirl having a seizure.” 

Nonplussed by the chaotic and crass behavior of the Shaman Council, Judy accepted the vial of purple smoking liquid from Saboo, tossing the contents of the vial onto a long scroll of parchment that she extracted from her black judicial robes. A chain of words in and elegant and arcane script appeared on the parchment.

Standing on his tiptoes to catch a glimpse at the inscription, Kirk remarked, “Well, that’s an alien baby, alright.”

“Congratulations, ballbags,” Naboo lisped. “You’re having a girl.”

“Wow, did you hear that, Howard?” Vince chirped, grasping his friend around the middle. “We’re having a little girl! I can’t wait to teach her about fashion!”

Overwhelmed, Howard burst into tears.

“The results are in,” said Judge Judy, standing in all her 5’1” glory but looking like a majestic beacon of universal justice. She held the scroll in her hands, reading the results aloud. “According to the DNA test results, your baby is 51% human, 49% Uranian. Judgment in favor of the plaintiff, I mean, claimant, for the amount of eighteen years alimony to be paid annually. Saboo will get the exact numbers. Counterclaim for emotional distress in the amount of 2 million Euros overruled. Counter counterclaim for emotional distress in the amount of 1 million Euro received. Judgment in favor of the claimant in the amount of 1 million Euro. Saboo, Tony Harrison, you have the court’s permission to demand payment from Uranus to the full extent of the law. Case dismissed. All rise.” This last was obsolete as everyone was already standing. Judge Judy walked back to the place where the pyre had been lit. “Send me back, Dennis,” she commanded. “And good luck, you two,” she said to Vince and Howard, a rare smile gracing her face. 

“A million Euro?” Howard asked, looking like he might collapse. 

“Sure, Sunshine,” said Tony Harrison, prodding Vince with a tentacle. “If you’re going to go in, might as well go all in.” 

“Besides,” added Saboo, “we figured one or two million Euro would just about cover the amount of therapy you and your alien spawn will need to live any semblance of a normal life.” 

Howard buried his head in Vince’s shoulder and sobbed. Vince gathered him close, rubbing his back and muttering soothing nonsense words as he glared at Saboo. “What’d you have to go and say that for, you berk?” he grumbled. “This is supposed to be a joyful occasion, and you’ve gone and twisted it all up! Me ‘n’ Howard are going to raise a great kid, you just wait!”

Howard sniffled and wiped his nose on Vince’s shirt. Vince was too busy glaring at Saboo to notice. “You mean that, Vince?” he sniffed. “You’re gonna help me raise my little girl?”

“‘Course I am,” Vince said, voice strong with conviction. “You and me, we’re in this together, don’t you forget it!”

“Loath as I am to interrupt this tender moment,” Naboo grumbled, “me and Bollo are getting out of here. You guys want a ride or not?”

Still wiping tears from his eyes, Howard let Vince lead him onto the carpet. As they sped through time and space, Howard was too distracted by the myriad thoughts swirling through his head to ponder the physics of intergalactic carpet travel. Vince had promised to stay by his side, and Howard decided that perhaps Vince was telling the truth, after all. He curled up on the carpet, laying his head in Vince’s lap, letting him stroke his hair and whisper about all the plans he had for Howard’s little girl. It was all so peaceful that, like a bedtime story, it lulled him to a sleep filled with pleasant dreams of their future together as man and wife and alien.


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excited by the news that they’re expecting a girl alien, Vince and Howard work on the nursery and argue over baby names. Eventually, they start talking about the past, and their hopes and dreams for the future and their baby. A little bit of angst to make the UST hurt so good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to LittleBooshMaid for betaing this!

Vince stepped back to get a good look at his handiwork, twisting his paintbrush between his fingers as he considered the painting. After weeks of labor, the Wild Things mural was finally complete. 

The painted jungle seemed to crawl to life, bursts of flowers in every color scattered among the vines and greenery. In the top corner, the moon glowed over the entire scene. Just like in the book, the Wild Things roared their terrible roars, and gnashed their terrible teeth. Also like the book, the creatures were more cute than frightening. Vince had even added a speech bubble to two of the Wild Things, one of which had a diamond-shaped nose and sharp cheekbones and the other of which had tiny eyes and a mustache, saying, “We’ll eat you up, we love you so!” just so the baby knew how beloved she was. 

_She._

They… Howard was going to have a _little girl._ Vince couldn’t have been happier. His mind was full of images: having tea parties, playing dress up, teaching his teenager the finer points of hair care and makeup application, hitting TopShop sales together...

Howard, of course, could only imagine things like fighting off boys when she was older, explaining why there was still pay disparity between men and women, and having to deal with “girly stuff.” 

Knowing it was a girl, a daughter, made the whole thing seem real to Vince. Howard had had his moments of clarity, times when the reality of his pregnancy hit him like a llama hoof to the face. But for Vince, knowing the baby was a she, a little half-alien girl, a daughter, made her seem more real than ever. 

Of course, this also meant there were fights over names. Howard favored sensible, old-fashioned names, “something she can have on a business card.” Vince’s priority was a name that would work for a frontwoman of the band she was sure to lead someday. Between his keen fashion sense and ability to pull shapes, as well as Howard’s innate musical gifts, it was inevitable that she would become the next Blondie or Patti Smith. But _not_ if Howard were left in charge of naming her.

“Look, Howard!” Vince chirped, nudging Howard, who was perched on the rocking chair they’d purchased for the nursery from a charity shop, reading _Cinderella Ate My Daughter: Dispatches From the Front Lines of the New Girlie-Girl Culture_. “Do you think little Debbie Harry will like it?”

Howard looked up from his book to study the mural. He’d always known Vince had a bit of artistic talent, but he was blown away by the detail and vibrancy of the mural. “I think little Ethel will adore it, Vince.”

“Ethel?” Vince croaked. There was _no way_ that the baby would grow up to be a rock star with a name like that. “We--I mean, _you--_ can’t name a little girl _Ethel!”_

Howard stroked his belly contemplatively. “You’re right, she doesn’t feel like an Ethel. More like a Gertrude, I think.”

“Ugh, _Gertrude?”_ Vince asked, appalled. 

“Gertrude is a perfectly sensible name, Vince!” Howard insisted.

Vince’s skin began to prickle at the mere sound of such an appalling name. He pulled at the collar of his jumpsuit and looked down. Sure enough, his chest had broken out in hives. “We can’t call the baby _Gertrude_ ,” he whined. “I’m going to get a rash every time someone says her name! It’s just not on!”

“Well, what would _you_ name her, then?” Howard grumbled.

Vince didn’t hesitate. “Jagger, of course.”

Howard grimaced. “That’s a terrible name for a baby.”

“How is that any worse than _Gertrude?”_ Vince shuddered.

“Well, first of all, she’s a _girl_ ,” Howard said, stopping himself when Vince glared at him. “And it sounds too much like ‘jagged’. Not at all the kind of name you want your child to grow into.”

Vince still didn’t see the problem, but he pursed his lips and wracked his brain for a name that was properly glamourous but was also something Howard would find suitable. “We could call her Ziggy Stardust, in honor of her alien heritage!” 

“No child of mine will be named after one of David Bowie’s alter egos!” Howard protested. He liked Bowie as much as the next bloke, but he wasn’t sure he liked Bowie enough to name his baby after the man.

“Well, she _is_ half-alien. If we’re not going to name her after a rock star, why not just name her after a _star_ star?” Vince mused.

That wasn’t a half-bad idea, Howard considered. Plenty of stars had names that were both classical enough to appeal to Howard’s tastes, and exotic enough for Vince’s. “You might be on to something there, Little Man.” Howard stroked his moustache. “What about Luna?”

“Luna _Moon?”_ Vince scoffed. “Might as well call her Moon Moon.”

Perhaps Vince had a point. “You’re right, Luna Moon is a well stupid name. But there are other stars in the sky.” 

Vince rolled his eyes at the awful pun. “Yeah, like Andromeda, or Ceres, or Vesta, or Cassiopeia...”

“Hmm, Cassiopeia,” Howard considered, his eyes taking on a glazed, far-away expression. “The queen of the night sky...”

“Ugh,” Vince groaned. “I take it back, that one’s got way too many syllables.”

“No, it’s perfect!” Howard had already fallen in love with the name; it was _perfect_ for his little alien baby, who was already the queen of his heart. It _was_ a little long, though... “We could call her Cassie for short.”

“Cassie Moon, that has a nice ring to it,” Vince mused. “Well cute.” He placed a hand on Howard’s belly. “What do you think, little one? Do you want to be called Cassie Moon?”

Cassie replied by seeming to dance vigorously on Howard’s bladder. “I--I think she likes it,” Howard said.

“Did she move?” asked Vince excitedly. 

“I’m not… I’m not sure,” Howard answered, looking like he was trying to work out a complicated equation. 

Vince ran both hands up the swell of Howard’s bump with a lascivious grin. Howard, however, shooed him away. “Don’t touch me,” he grumbled, and Vince pouted, looking hurt--it had been a long time since Howard had told Vince not to touch him. Ever since he’s started giving Howard foot massages to ease some of the strain of carrying around a big belly all day long, Howard had, in fact, mostly asked Vince to touch him more...

Howard caught Vince’s sad expression. “She’s on my bladder,” he explained. “I need a wee, and you’re making it _worse.._.”

“I don’t mind,” Vince said, pulling him closer.

“Vince!” Howard shrieked.

“What?” Vince grumbled, but he at least loosened his grip enough to let Howard go to the loo.

“You have _got_ to stop spending so much time with the Shaman Council,” Howard griped as he exited the nursery. “You’re starting to go wrong.”

Vince couldn’t help but let out an ironic chuckle. If Howard only knew just _how_ wrong Vince had gone, how badly Vince was being affected by Howard’s luscious new pregnancy body, how often Vince wanked himself off to fantasies about Howard’s tits and belly, how badly Vince wished that _he’d_ been the one to give Howard a baby... Well. It would probably trigger another one of Howard’s crises. 

Even as Vince’s desire grew day-by-day, he knew better than to mention it to Howard. Their friendship, which had been strained ever since leaving the Zooniverse, was now stronger than ever, and Vince was loathe to do anything that would risk the fragile peace between them--or, even _worse_ , make Howard panic and cut Vince out of his and Cassie’s lives for good. As badly as Vince wanted to be with Howard, to be a _real_ father to his baby, he was willing to settle for being Howard’s best friend and co-parent, and Cassie’s really cool uncle.

Unbeknownst to Vince, however, Howard was having a crisis of his own. As he walked back to nursery after having relieved himself, Howard was re-playing the earlier encounter in his mind, overanalyzing every touch and ambiguously flirtatious comment Vince made. Sure, his hormones had been out-of-control ever since he’d entered his second trimester, and yeah, the object of his overactive sex drive was Vince, more often than not, but Howard had convinced himself that there was no way Vince could ever think about him as more than a friend. The idea was so preposterous that Howard dismissed it outright. So what if Vince was always finding excuses to touch him, or making flirty little comments? Vince was like that with _everyone_ ; it wasn’t like _Howard_ was special....

He was so lost in thought that he stumbled over a pile of blocks placed precariously on the nursery floor. Before he could lose his balance completely, Vince was at his side, steadying him.

“You all right there, Howard?” Vince asked, his face so full of care and concern that it made Howard’s heart stutter. For a moment, Howard could almost believe that the expression on Vince’s face was full of love, more than mere concern for his and the baby’s well-being... but the idea was so implausible that Howard quickly locked the feeling away in the part of his brain where he kept all his other impossible dreams. 

“I’m fine,” he said softly, choking a bit on the bitter taste of repressed emotion. “Just almost tripped on these damned blocks.” He surveyed the nursery quickly, noting the other various piles of toys and baby clothes scattered over the floor. “This place is a pigsty. The baby won’t be born for another three-and-a-half months, how in the world does she have so many toys _already?”_

Vince shrugged. Perhaps he had gone a bit overboard, but he was determined to give little Cassie anything she could ever want, and fill her childhood with pleasant memories. “Not like it’s a _bad_ thing,” he replied. “Babies need toys. That’s how they learn, you know, through playing...”

“This baby is going to be so spoiled,” Howard sighed. Forgetting for a moment that his large belly was constantly in the way, he attempted to bend down to pick up the pile of blocks. Immediately, his back protested, and he yelped in pain.

“You _sure_ you’re OK?” Vince asked.

“It’s nothing,” Howard forced out from between gritted teeth, rubbing the aching base of his spine. “Pulled my back a bit, is all.”

“You better take it easy,” Vince said, leading Howard over to the rocking chair and helping him sit down. “I’ll pick up the mess, you just tell me where you want me to put everything, yeah?”

“I’m _pregnant_ , not an _invalid_ ,” Howard grumbled, but he acquiesced all the same. Perhaps Vince was right. Howard’s feet already hurt all the time; the last thing he needed was for his back to start bothering him, too...

Vince knelt to pick up a pink stuffed horse that was dangerously close to the curved bottom rungs of the rocking chair. “Anyway,” he said, idly smoothing its rumpled mane, “all of this is better than Naboo’s idea of suitable toys. Do you know he gave me a plushie the other day that was, I swear, filled with drugs?” Vince made a scandalized face. “Can you believe him?”

“Actually, I can,” Howard groaned. “He’s still trying to convince me to take all manner of ‘supplements’. Why, the other day, when I complained of being tired, he gave me a tincture of methamphetamine! Good job that I asked what the ingredients were before drinking it.”

Vince stifled a giggle. “Typical Naboo!”

“At least he’s a halfway competent obstetrician,” Howard conceded. “I don’t know if there’s another doctor in all of England qualified to treat a male pregnancy.”

“And the Shaman Council’s been right helpful with the whole child support thing,” Vince added, placing the plush horse onto the bookshelf before kneeling to pick up a rattle shaped like a rainbow-colored lolly. “I’m pretty sure that you’d be hard-pressed to find another barrister well-versed in intergalactic Sex Law. I still can’t believe that you’re a millionaire now!”

Howard shuddered. He’d always assumed that he would live a life of labor in menial jobs that paid just above minimum wage; he’d never, not even in his wildest dreams, imagined that he would be a rich man. His days of providing sexual services to the likes of Bob Fossil, Eleanor, and Tony Harrison were long behind him, but he still had no idea how he was supposed to handle so much money. “It’s not _my_ money,” he reminded Vince. “It belongs to Cassie, remember?”

“Yeah, but you won it for your emotional distress, so it is _technically_ your money,” Vince reminded him. “We could go shopping--”

“No,” Howard interrupted, a note of finality in his voice. “We’ve been over this. The money is being invested for Cassie’s future, and part of it put in a trust for her when she comes of age. Think about her education, Vince.” 

“We never went to university,” mumbled Vince. “In fact, you even told me that I shouldn’t bother with my A-Levels!”

“About that...” Howard sighed. “Maybe I was being short-sighted.”

Vince looked at him, incredulous.

“I just--I hated the zoo!” Howard admitted. “Everyone hated me, all the other keepers, even the _animals_ . I was lonely, and I--I _missed_ you.” He averted his eyes, clutching the armrest of the rocking chair so hard his knuckles went white. It was true, a secret Howard had held inside him for many years. He’d heard the old adage before, “the truth will set you free”, but having admitted his terrible, selfish secret, Howard was not so certain he _felt_ free. 

“Oh,” Vince said, mouth agape, dumbfounded. He hadn’t realized that Howard’s job at the Zooniverse had been so difficult for him--Howard had constantly talked up the zoo, telling Vince all about how wonderful it was to work there, how much the other keepers and the animals respected him, until he’d finally asked Vince to join him. In retrospect, Vince probably should have realized how miserable his friend had been once he’d begun working there and overheard all the snippy comments their fellow keepers and the animals had had to say about him, but he’d been too blinded by Howard’s bluster and sense of self-importance, as well as his own admiration for the man, to notice. He’d always been a bit thick, and a bit blinded by his hero-worship for Howard...

“It was a shitty thing to do,” Howard said gravely. “You deserve more than to spend your life shoveling dung or working as a shopkeeper for a living, Vince, and I--I was too selfish to risk losing you. I don’t want Cassie to end up like--like _us_ , working as lowly sales associates in a shop that’s nothing more than a money-laundering front for a drug-crazed shaman’s illegal business dealings...”

Howard was working himself into a strop, and Vince felt a sudden surge of tenderness for his friend. He reached out a hand, and placed it on Howard’s forehead, brushing the messy brown curls off of his forehead. “S’ok, Howard,” he murmured. “I--I _hated_ school. Everyone made fun of me all the time without you there, for being weird, for _looking_ weird... I probably would have left anyway, eventually.” He traced Howard’s brow with his thumb, Howard’s small brown eyes darting up to meet Vince’s, full of a sadness Vince wished he could soothe away. “I missed you too. Every day. I was so happy when I started working at the zoo--I loved the animals, but I… I loved...” (here Vince stumbled on the word, the truth of it both too much and not _enough_ ) “I loved getting to spend every day with you more.”

Howard bit his lip, his brow furrowed, eyes crinkling and shining with something that looked suspiciously like tears.

Vince’s heart ached. He fought the urge, growing stronger every second, to kiss Howard’s forehead, to kiss the sadness right off of his face. But he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t do anything to scare Howard off or risk his chance to be a part of Cassie’s life, so instead, he squeezed Howard’s shoulder a bit more firmly, hoping Howard would understand, that somehow, Howard would feel the love Vince had for him overflowing from the palm of his hand and every other part of him, and know that Vince would always be by his side, loving him, loving his little alien baby, as much as he was allowed to, even as Vince wished Howard would allow him to love them even _more_. 

“It will be all right,” Vince said softly. “Cassie’s gonna have a better life than either of us ever had. She’ll grow up knowing that she’s loved, in a home where everyone loves each other.”

Forcing himself not to break eye contact with Vince, Howard nodded. He knew both of their own childhoods had been less than idyllic; while Vince had grown up never knowing his real parents, at first in the jungle and then in a series of foster homes, Howard’s own parents, while still married to one another, had both turned to the drink after having been stuck in a loveless marriage. Howard’s childhood memories were full of screaming arguments and broken bottles, and he ached with the desire to give Cassie everything he and Vince hadn’t had themselves.

He reached up, grasping the hand Vince had laid on his shoulder between the fingers of his own, laying their intertwined hands on the bulge of his stomach. Cassie lay quiet and still in his belly as the two men held onto each other. Howard had been anxious to feel her moving and had begun to worry that the lack of movement was a sign that something was wrong despite Naboo’s repeated assurances that she was healthy, but at that moment, Howard wondered if her quietude was a sign of contentment, that perhaps she was happy enough to stay still and let herself be loved. He certainly hoped so.


	14. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard’s back hasn’t stopped aching after tripping over some toys in the nursery. Vince has an idea: a back massage that leads to sexual tension and awkward wanking--no, not with each other. The UST intensifies, and so does the angst...

Howard rolled over onto his right side, desperate to find a position that did not put any pressure on his aching back. It did not work. The new position sent a red-hot arc of pain along his spine, radiating from the small of his back up to his shoulders and all the way down his legs to the soles of his swollen, sore feet.

He squirmed and sighed, the sound of the sheets rustling feeling abnormally loud in the dark bedroom. He was exhausted and cranky, but in far too much pain to sleep. Ever since he’d strained his back trying to tidy up the nursery last week, the aching, stinging sensation had never quite left him. It hurt to sit down, it hurt to stand--and now, it hurt even to lie down.

Howard shifted onto his back, but that position was even worse. He choked out a soft groan and huffed as he tried his left side, which was a little better, but soon his arm fell asleep from being trapped beneath the weight of his ever-growing bump. He stirred and sat up, shaking the pins and needles from his arm, the bedsprings creaking with his exertions as the nerves prickled back to life. Pregnancy was a lot of things--an amazing miracle, exciting, and sometimes scary, Howard mused, but mostly, it was very, very uncomfortable.

Vince, too, lay awake in his bed, the moonlight filtering in through slitted blinds. He thought he could hear the Moon singing what sounded like a bastardized version of “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” but he couldn’t be sure. Even so, that wasn’t what was keeping him awake.

What _was_ keeping Vince awake in the middle of the night was the constant litany of sighs, moans, huffed breaths, and shuffling noises coming from the bed across the room. It was painfully obvious that Howard wasn’t sleeping either, but Vince didn’t let on that he was also awake. He desperately wanted to sleep. Taking care of Howard and his unborn child was exhausting. Up until five-and-a-half months ago, Vince had only ever been obliged to take care of himself, and _that_ was easy: a steady diet of sugar, plenty of shiny diversions, and a loaded social calendar were enough to keep him happy. 

Pregnant Howard, however? Keeping him healthy and content was harder than any full-time job Vince had ever had. It was bad enough making sure he steered clear of caffeinated teas and keeping the refrigerator stocked with all the weird things Howard craved. Taking care of Howard physically would have worn out any lesser man. But taking care of Howard emotionally? That was the truly exhausting part. Every day seemed to bring a new mini-crisis or episode of self-doubt and self-loathing. Howard’s proclivity towards being an anxious human being was trying at the best of times. Add pregnancy and the fact that another life hung in the balance? It was a lot to keep up with, and Vince was tired. 

He shut his eyes, determined to drown out the Moon’s stupid singing and Howard’s annoying sighs. He started to count Bowies in his mind (one Bowie hopping over the fence, two Bowie hopping over the fence…) but even this didn’t help. Vince was good at drowning out his surroundings and retreating mentally to his “happy place.” It was a skill he’d learned early on when the cacophony of jungle sounds kept him awake at night as a child. 

His concern for Howard, however, wouldn’t allow Vince to sleep. 

“Howard?” Vince whispered. The only reply he got was a deep sigh. He tried again. “Howard?”

“What is it, Vince?” Howard asked, fluffing the pillows before settling back against them, half-sitting, half lying down, then immediately regretted the change in position as another jolt of pain radiated across his pelvis.

“Why’re you still up? Can’t sleep?”

Howard sighed again, a long, exhausted-sounded thing. “No.” 

Vince heard sheets rumpling and the sound of Howard perching on the edge of his bed. “It’s my back,” Howard groaned. 

Vince rolled over to face Howard and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped behind his back, pushing there as if to knead away pain. “Must’ve pulled it the other day in the nursery, and I can’t find a comfortable position to sleep in.”

“Do you want me to get you some paracetamol?” Vince asked. 

“No, no. I don’t want to take anything, you know, just in case...” 

Vince nodded and sat up, running fingers through his bed-messed hair. “Well, let me at least get some tea going.”

“Vince, I will vomit if I have to drink one more cup of that lousy herbal leaf water you call tea,” Howard said, heels of his hands massaging his eyes. “I know you’re trying to help, but I don’t want tea.” He was whining, and Howard knew he should be ashamed at himself for acting like such a brat when all Vince was trying to do was make him feel better, but the constant discomfort of the last several days had left him too cranky to care.

If Vince had had more energy, he might have gotten snippy, retorted “I’m just trying to help”, or else made a snide remark or cutting insult. But the truth was, he was too tired. And Howard looked so pathetic, gray and rumpled and tired, his belly resting heavy on his lap. Vince stood and crossed the room, placing himself behind Howard on the bed. Carefully, tentatively, he put his hands on Howard’s shoulders, and began a slow, gentle massage. 

He waited, breath held, for the “don’t touch me” that never came. Instead, Howard sighed, different now from the earlier pained sighs. This sigh came from deep down, and with it, Vince could feel Howard’s muscles give a little, releasing the tension that had resided there so long it was practically permanent. 

They sat in silence, the only sounds the occasional car that drove by outside and the intermittent stray cat yowling in the alley. Even the moon seemed to have shut up. 

Vince closed his eyes, feeling himself relax as he worked the tension from Howard’s muscles. He moved his hands downward to trace a trail along Howard’s spine, kneading and rubbing as he went. When he reached Howard’s lower back, he eased up, trying to make his touch gentle. The last thing he wanted to do was to cause Howard any more pain. 

Slowly, daringly, he slid his now-warm hands up under the hem of Howard’s shirt, kneading the heels of his hands into Howard’s skin. He felt, rather than heard, Howard’s gasp of surprise, followed by something that sounded like a choked-off moan.

For his part, Howard was biting down on his lip, trying to stifle the embarrassing sounds that threatened to escape if he were to let himself relax too much. Vince’s foot massages had been the most sensual thing he’d felt in his life--at least until he’d experienced Vince giving him a back massage. After his one failed attempt at receiving a back massage from a licensed profession had ended in discomfort and disaster, Howard had assumed that he just didn’t _like_ back massages at all. 

But getting a massage from Vince was something completely different. Instead of being poked and prodded by a stranger in a strange room filled with myriad tiny open flames, Howard was in a familiar room, being touched by familiar hands, with no fire hazard in sight (although perhaps Naboo, due to his proclivity for getting really, really stoned, was probably one shaman-sized fire hazard, but Howard wasn’t thinking about that). No, he was only thinking about Vince’s hands, an intriguing contradiction of soft and strong, skirting along his spine, skin to skin, rubbing away the tension in his back as they triggered a wholly different kind of tension between his legs.

Thankful for the darkness of the room, Howard squirmed, biting down another moan as Vince’s fingertips worked at a particularly stubborn knot between two vertebrae. His cock pulsed with a rush of heat and blood as Vince continued to massage the tension in his back away, and Howard buried his face in his pillow, no longer able to contain the sounds of pleasure he’d been so desperate to stifle.

Vince smirked to himself in the dark. When was the last time poor Howard had felt skin on skin? For that matter, it had been too long for Vince, too. He re-traced his earlier path, fingers skimming along Howard’s backbone, stopping to soothe away any knots and tension he found along the way, until his hand rested on the crown of Howard’s head, fingertips gently carding through Howard’s soft brown curls. “You’re still so tense,” Vince whispered, his voice deep and hoarse as he continued to massage at Howard’s scalp. “You can relax, Howard. I’m not going to hurt you.”

That was all it took--Howard tossed his head back, a deep, gutterral, needy moan escaping from between his lips. Vince could feel Howard’s whole body shiver as it released the tension from holding back the sounds of pleasure that had been so eager to escape. 

Vince wanted so badly to flatten his palms against Howard’s back, to feel the warm skin beneath his hands, to properly grope and feel. His hands practically _ached_ with the need to reach around and cup Howard’s tits, and knew that if he did, he could make Howard shudder with want and need and pleasure. Vince bit his lip, trying to steady his breath, and will away the erection that was pushing against the seams of his pants. He wanted to reach around and caress Howard’s belly, wanted to trace the valleys and ridges of Howard’s stretch marks with his fingertips, wanted to lick and taste… 

When Howard gave another shuddering sigh, Vince withdrew his hands and carefully lifted the hem of Howard’s nightshirt over his messy hair, tossing the shirt artlessly onto the floor. Once he had Howard shirtless, Vince paused, unsure how to make Howard comfortable for this. He’d never given a pregnant person a massage before, and Vince was at a bit of a loss as to how to position Howard so he would not be lying on his bump. Howard sat at the edge of the bed, the moonlight that filtered through the blinds delicately delineating the curve of Howard’s belly, the softly sloping shape of his tits, and Vince’s mouth watered.

A sudden inspiration struck Vince’s lust-addled mind, and he turned to grab a couple of pillows off of his bed. “Lie down,” he commanded, voice low in the silent room and thick with desire. Howard obeyed wordlessly, as though his free will had been taken away and replaced only with the need to follow Vince’s order. 

Vince arranged the pillows carefully, two under Howard’s head to support his neck, another beneath his belly to support his bump. He stepped back to survey his handiwork, noting the pained-looking grimace on Howard’s face as he squeezed his legs together, and Vince placed a hesitant hand on Howard’s hip, gasping at the heat that arced between them as he made contact.

“Open your legs,” Vince murmured hoarsely. Howard hesitated, but Vince nodded, which seemed to reassure him, and obeyed. Vince stuffed the last pillow between Howard’s legs to align his hips to relieve some of the pressure the position was putting on his lower back.

Howard squeezed the pillow between his thighs, willing himself to keep from grinding against it. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to hold himself under control, feeling like he would lose control at any moment.

Vince stood beside the bed and continued his earlier massage. Like this, he could use the weight of his whole body to press and work at the knots that ran down the length of Howard’s back, his freckled skin laid bare to Vince like an offering. As he stroked at kneaded at Howard’s skin, little gasps and moans vibrated through Howard’s body--Vince _felt_ them just as much as he heard them. His erection swelled--he didn’t care anymore. He had _wanted_ Howard for so long… years, entire lifetimes of desire welling up inside him, threatening to burst. If this was all Vince could get, Vince knew he would never be satisfied. 

Howard was coming apart a little bit more with each touch of Vince’s hands. He was no longer trying to hold himself back; with every press of Vince’s fingertips against his skin, Howard gave himself over a little bit more. He gasped with wanton abandon as Vince’s fingers skirted down his spine, teasingly dipping beneath the waistband of his pyjamas to caress the swell of Howard’s arse. The sensation made Howard squeeze his legs together even more tightly, his cock throbbing as he ground himself into the pillow, his shame forgotten as his pleasure intensified.

Howard’s sighs and moans of pleasure did nothing to ease Vince’s desire. The sounds stoked his lust like coals on a hot fire, and once again he felt the jealous thing inside him roar to life. He, _Vince_ , was wresting those sounds from Howard. No one else. Only _he_ was capable of getting Howard to let go and relax this much, to release the tension and tightly held reserve of which Howard was so proud. 

Howard’s obvious enjoyment emboldened Vince. He lowered himself carefully onto the bed next to Howard, lying on his side, still facing Howard’s back, and resumed squeezing the taut muscles at the base of his neck and shoulders. 

His mind ran away from him, imagining, again, for the thousandth time, what it would have been like if he’d been able to give Howard pleasure, if he’d been the one to put the baby inside Howard’s belly. Leaning forward, Vince nuzzled the hair that trailed over the nape of Howard’s neck, breathing deep. Like this, he could smell Howard’s musky, masculine scent, tea and leather and old books. Vince moaned, too, hips stuttering forward of their own accord, his hard cock rubbing against Howard’s arse in a moment of blinding pleasure. 

_Fuck,_ he thought to himself. 

Sure enough, the moment was ruined. Howard stiffened beneath Vince’s hands, inching forward on the bed as he put space between Vince and himself in a panic, putting back the walls that Vince had so carefully chipped away with his touch. Vince could have wept, cursing himself for his lack of self-control. He bit his lip, blinking back tears. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Vince forced himself to his feet, jumping off Howard’s bed and forcing a chipper note into his voice. “Hope that helps, Howard. Well… goodnight.” He’d never crawled back to bed so shamefully before in his life. 

Howard swallowed and propped himself up on his arm to push himself upright. He was careful to keep his back to Vince, afraid that Vince would see the bulge in his pyjama bottoms, that he would notice exactly how Howard had been affected by the massage. Heart racing, skin flushed, Howard released Vince’s pillows from beneath his neck and belly, tossing them onto Vince’s bed blindly. “Thanks for the, um, massage,” he whispered, the shame that had been so conspicuously absent while he’d been grunting and writhing and grinding himself into the pillow hitting him all at once. 

He’d been such an _idiot_ \--hadn’t he been dreaming of having Vince like this for months, years, _decades_ even? And yet, the instant that Howard’s fantasies hovered on the cusp of becoming reality, he’d panicked, and Vince had immediately withdrawn whatever it was he’d been offering. He turned his face into his pillow, releasing a groan that was equal parts emotional frustration and unfulfilled sexual tension.

Vince grabbed the pillows from where they’d fallen on the floor between Howard’s bed and his own, then retreated back to the safety of his sheets. He buried his face in his pillows, breathing the lingering scent of Howard--books and tea and skin. As he inhaled, deeper, deeper still, his hand crept between his legs as if by a will of its own. Vince gave himself a tentative squeeze, not intending to do anything more than ease some of the pressure, and gasped when his cock jumped in his hand. 

Too far gone to stop, Vince stroked his erection gently, quietly, desperate that Howard not hear and yet so needy to come that he couldn’t help it. His mind awash in images and sounds--the way Howard had arched into his touch, the warmth and texture of his skin beneath Vince’s hands, the moans and gasps that had vibrated through him as Vince _touched_ \--Vince pushed his cock into his hand, hips stuttering, wishing that _Howard’s_ hand on his cock, _Howard_ cradling his balls, _Howard_ getting him off... Guilt wasn’t something that came naturally to Vince--but he felt guilty now, wanking himself off beneath the sheets, hoping Howard wouldn’t notice. 

Of course, Howard _did_ notice. The barely audible snick of skin on skin, starting off slowly but soon increasing in speed and intensity, coupled with Vince’s soft, stuttering breaths… Howard might have been an almost-virgin, but he wasn’t a complete innocent. He knew enough to know that Vince was touching himself, that Vince was getting off not more than three feet away, close enough for Howard to reach an arm across and bridge the distance between them--Howard ground himself against the pillow still pressed between his legs, hips rutting, prick pulsing, pants growing damp with precum as his orgasm approached...

Vince paused. He’d thought he heard rustling from Howard’s bed, and in the silence between strokes, he could hear Howard’s bedsprings creaking, the little, soft gasps that sounded suspiciously like the sounds that he had coaxed from Howard only minutes earlier. No longer bothering to stay silent, Vince moaned, spitting in his hand before wrapping it back around his cock, the unmistakable slap of his prick in his wet palm echoing in the dark. Vince tightened his grip, his hips stuttering one last time as he came, soaking his pyjamas and bedclothes as his climax tore through him in endless spasms, choking on a moan. 

Howard heard the gutteral sound coming from the back of Vince’s throat, could hear his breathing stutter then even out again, as the skin-rubbing sound slowed, then faded into a silence that felt unbearably loud. Howard imagined Vince’s face, twisted in the agony of relief, his hair fanned out about his beautiful face, lips parted, eyes closed… 

Howard’s own orgasm rushed over him, thunderous, sudden, and so, _so_ good. Pregnancy hormones were a motherbitch, but goddamn if he’d ever come so hard in his entire life. He’d never gotten himself off by humping a pillow before, and the orgasm was different, dribbling slowly out of the tip of his prick, pulse after pulse as he pressed himself against the pillow. He felt like he would never stop coming--each time he ground down, another spurt of semen trickled onto the pillowcase. It was agony, it was ecstasy... and when it was finally over, the combination of Vince’s massage coupled with the drowsy, post-orgasmic haze lulled Howard into a relaxed, painless sleep. 

Vince, wound too tight to sleep despite his recent release, heard Howard’s movements still, a deep inhalation of breath, then silence, and was sure that Howard had got off, too. He turned onto his side to face Howard, whose bare back gleamed pale and incandescent in the moonlight, rising and falling with his breath as he slumbered. Vince lay and watched him sleep, aching, longing, to crawl beneath Howard’s sheets, curl up beside him, and let the warmth of his body and his soft snores lull him to sleep.

As the night crept on, Vince’s eyelids began to droop. When he finally fell asleep, he dreamt of waking up next to Howard, curls askew, eyes still crinkled with sleep, the two of them so hungry for each other and so in love that they decided to stay in bed all day.

Needless to say, the next morning was something of a rude awakening for Vince, who stretched out an arm to nuzzle closer to Howard and encountered only his own cold sheets. A glimpse over at Howard’s fastidiously-made bed and the uncomfortable mess in his pyjama bottoms confirmed that Vince had spent the night alone, and he turned over onto his stomach, pulled the sheets over his head, and refused to wake up again until reality began to resemble something a little less lonely.

When Howard burst into the room to inform Vince that breakfast was ready, Vince only grumbled an unintelligible reply and burrowed further beneath the blankets. He let Howard fuss over him, and laid in bed for the rest of the day, if not sick, then definitely sick at heart. If he spent the day feeling sorry for himself and wanking to thoughts of the night before, well then, Howard didn’t have to know.


	15. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the disastrous massage, Vince and Howard do what they do best--ignoring the UST-shaped elephant in the room. To vent his frustrations, Vince returns to the party scene, but it's not as scintillating as he remembers. Necessary conversations are had. (Yes, this is our S3 fix-it chapter, why do you ask?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another late post... sorry, it's all my (Stoney's) fault! I've had two major events at my job two weeks in a row. Hope it's worth the wait!
> 
> Thanks as always to LittleBooshMaid for their tireless beta work <3

Howard sat in his chair behind the counter, ruminating over the doleful events of the last few days and sighed as he checked his watch. Late again. While both men had been taking some time off from work to deal with various pregnancy-related crises, at least one of them tried to spend time running the shop each day. Naboo insisted. 

Since _that night_ , Vince had spent less time at the shop or at the apartment. He’d been away from the Camden party scene for months, and had a lot of missed social events to make up for. Over the last few months, he’d been _mostly_ punctual at work, showing up right when the Nabootique opened or slightly after. However, lately he’d reverted to coming in hours late, often hungover, and spending more time on his mobile than actually working.

Howard would glare and make snide comments, but Vince ignored him, typing a furious response to whoever he’d been texting. As soon as the shop closed, he’d lock himself in the loo for hours, perfecting his hair and makeup, trying on outfit after outfit, then heading out to the clubs, from which he would not return until long after Howard had retired for the evening.

It was beginning to wear on Howard’s patience. It reminded him of before, before he’d been abducted, when things had been going _not great_ between he and Vince. He’d grown used to having Vince hovering over him each evening, forcing him to drink weird herbal teas and giving him foot massages as they watched reruns of _Colobus the Crab_ or nature documentaries. Even though Vince’s absence meant Howard could listen to as much jazz as he wanted to, or watch all the Dutch avant-garde cinema he could stand, he felt Vince’s absence viscerally, like a missing limb, and all of Howard’s worst fears about Vince abandoning him to raise Cassie on his own seemed to be coming true.

Like now. The bell over the door to the Nabootique chimed; a group of young women entered, chattering amongst themselves as they browsed the carefully-cultivated selection of vintage clothing. Vince was busy staring at his mobile, pointedly ignoring the customers, and Howard, who was currently in the middle of re-alphabetizing and inventorying the records, was forced to juggle their questions about things like fabric content and sizing, about which he knew nothing, with his task. He grew so flustered that he accidentally dropped the records he was holding, shattering one particularly valuable first-press vinyl of The Beatles' _Rubber Soul._

 _Fuck,_ he silently swore as he swept up the detritus; Naboo was _definitely_ going to dock his wages for that one. Even if Howard had been awarded a generous settlement from the Uranian aliens who had abducted and impregnated him against his will, after having spent so many years on the crusty edge of poverty, the lost wages still irked him. 

“Vince?” he asked. 

Vince continued intently mashing the buttons on his mobile.

“Vince?” Howard tried again. Vince’s mobile beeped. He stared at the device, resolutely ignoring Howard’s attempts to get his attention, and Howard was no longer able to contain the hurt and frustration that had been festering ever since the night Vince had given him a back massage. “VINCE!” he hollered.

Vince finally looked up from his mobile. “Christy, Howard, you don’t have to _yell_ ,” he sniped. 

“As a matter of fact, I _did_ ,” Howard snapped. “I called your name like five times, and you didn’t even bother to acknowledge me until I yelled! What is wrong with you lately? You’ve been late to work every day this week, and when you _do_ bother to show up, you ignore me _and_ the customers!” He walked behind the counter to dump the remains of the broken record into the trash bin; Vince was quick to put as much distance as possible between them in the cramped space.

“Nothing’s _wrong_ with me,” Vince griped. “I’m just busy making plans for tonight.”

Howard shoved the broom and dustpan beneath the counter with a clatter, rather more harshly than was perhaps necessary. “Well, maybe you ought to be busy doing work, considering that you’re _at_ work.”

“Like _you_ would understand,” Vince huffed. “Your social life is like a minotaur’s shadow. It doesn’t exist.” 

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m having a baby in fourteen weeks,” Howard said, putting his hands on his belly for emphasis. “I can’t go out every night and spend all my wages on overpriced alcopops and being promiscuous with strangers. I have a daughter to consider now, and unlike you, I know how to put the health and well-being of my baby first!”

Vince’s eyes flashed angrily. How _dare_ Howard take Vince for granted--didn’t he realize how much Vince had done for him since he’d come down with a case of alien pregnancy? Vince had completely neglected his social life for months, and done everything for Howard--everything from making sure they had weird foods stocked in the refrigerator, to rubbing Howard’s stinky feet, to making sure Howard didn’t drown himself in sadness showers. He’d gone to Xooberon for every damned meeting and checkup. He’d even neglected to replace his empty bottle of root booster in favor of staying home one night when Howard wasn’t feeling well. Vince honestly thought he had sacrificed more than Howard. Vince had been Prince of Camden. He couldn’t very well maintain that title when he was home every night taking care of his pregnant… whatever Howard was. 

Vince felt his blood begin to heat, could feel it rising up his neck and into his ears. How very dare Howard imply he didn’t care about Cassie when he had given up _his crown_ for her? Howard had so little to lose, when Vince had given up everything. 

And yet, Howard’s words had cut into the soft parts of Vince like a blade sharpened so finely he didn’t feel it cut at first. Howard had done what Howard always did best: put into words what Vince was feeling because Vince couldn’t find the words himself. And the nameless fear Vince held deep inside was that he wasn’t worthy of Howard and Cassie, wasn’t good enough to be a parent. That he was just like his own parents after all. 

“Pardon me for not wallowing in self-pity for nine months,” Vince spat, trying to squash down his own fears and inadequacies. “That’s all this pregnancy is to you, innit? A chance to indulge in the endless pity party you’ve always wanted to throw yourself.” 

By this time the girls in the shop had left long ago. All that remained in the Nabootique were Vince, Howard, and the electric anger that crackled between them. 

They stood staring at each other, both too hurt and angry to speak. Finally, Vince rolled his eyes, pocketed his mobile, and made his way up the stairs, slamming the door to the bathroom where he would no doubt spend the next hour (at least) getting ready for another night out. Howard stood, choking back tears, and with shaking hands closed out the till. If Vince couldn’t be arsed to work, then neither would he. 

The bass thumped so loudly that Vince could feel it in his bones. He downed another shot, the liquid acrid as it burned its way down his throat. He shook out his hair, drawing gasps of admiration from the girls nearby, and went on dancing, forcing his mind to focus on the asinine lyrics, the strobing lights, on anything _but_ the tempest of emotions brewing inside him. 

Catching Leroy’s eye across the floor, Vince grinned cheekily, completely adept at masking his feelings in favor of the Sunshine Kid glamour he put on for all of Camden. People here worshipped him. Men and women alike crushed up against him, dancing and writhing and wanting, and Vince didn’t stop them even though their smells and the cheap rough fabrics of their too-bright clothes repulsed him. 

He closed his eyes, bobbing to the rhythm. He imagined soft, creamy beiges and browns, corduroy and wool, the smell of tea rather than the miasma of sweat, alcohol, vomit and pheromones assailing him. Someone ground up behind him, grabbed his hips. Still stuck in his fantasy, Vince pressed back into them, horrified to feel bones and angles where he’d expected curves and softness. 

He opened his eyes and made his way off the dance floor, intending to drink himself into oblivion. At the bar he swallowed another alcopop, but it wasn’t sweet. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough. And the thought of staying in this club, away from Howard, away from _Cassie,_ for one minute more made him want to cry. 

Without as much as a glance over his shoulder, Vince bobbed and weaved his way unsteadily out of the club, putting in a Herculean effort to stay balanced on his high sequined platform boots, and made his way back to the flat. 

The flat seemed further away than ever as Vince stumbled, half-blinded by the alcohol, through the London streets. The sidewalks were full of partygoers, everyone dressed in their best party clothes, all of them wanting to chat with Vince, to tell him about the parties he’d been missing, the upcoming shows and spectacles that surely the Prince of Camden couldn’t miss. Vince brushed past the madding crowd, excusing himself without even bothering with an explanation, intent on going home to Howard and Cassie where he belonged.

Finally he arrived at the Nabootique. A quick patdown revealed that in his haste to leave after his argument with Howard, Vince had forgotten his keys. Even though it was well past midnight, Vince had no choice but to ring the bell, hoping that either Naboo and Bollo were home and not too high to answer the door, or that Howard was awake and not too upset with Vince to let him in.

The door to the flat opened to reveal a tired, cranky-looking Howard, who was wearing a dowdy brown robe and a massively fluffy pair of slippers, his moustache quirked in an expression of disappointment. Even so, Vince was so happy to see him that he launched himself at his friend, enveloping Howard in a drunken, sloppy hug.

But Howard jerked out of Vince’s embrace with a muttered “Don’t touch me!”, turning and clomping up the stairs in his ridiculous slippers. Burning from the rejection, Vince swallowed the knot in his throat, though his eyes prickled with stubborn tears as he followed Howard up the stairs.

Once they’d made their way up to the flat, Howard collapsed onto the couch. The TV was on, tuned in to some old black-and-white film with the sound off, the coffee table covered with an array of empty packages from an assortment of chocolate bars and a melting, half-eaten pint of chocolate truffle ice cream. 

“Oh, Howard,” Vince fussed, “you’re going to make yourself sick--”

“What do you care?” Howard snapped, defiantly sticking an overflowing spoonful of the melting ice cream into his mouth. His moustache was smeared with chocolate, but Howard, ever proud and preening over his prized facial hair, paid it no mind.

“I do care,” Vince said softly, settling next to Howard on the small sofa. “I care a lot.”

Howard snorted. “You sure have a funny way of showing it.” He shoved the spoon back into the ice cream, and Vince closed his hand gently around Howard’s wrist.

“I’m--I’m _trying_ ,” he admitted, his voice soft and small. Howard’s grip on the spoon relaxed, and Vince took Howard’s hand in his, gently stroking the ridge of his knuckles. “I’ve been trying so hard to take care of you, and Cassie too. But I--I don’t know how to do it right. Maybe it’s ‘cause I never knew my parents, or maybe because I was raised by animals in the jungle, or maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m just crap at taking care of _anything_.” His voice wavered, and the tears that had been welling since Howard had snapped _Don’t touch me!_ overflowed, trickling down his cheeks.

Once the tears began falling, it wasn’t long before Vince was full-on sobbing. Vince had a lot of feelings, but he rarely allowed himself to express the more uncomfortable ones. He especially hated crying--hated how ugly it made him, how it made his eyes red and swollen, his skin dry. But he especially hated the awful way that crying made him feel, all wrung-out and wrong.

His anger and self-pity forgotten, Howard reached for Vince, cradling his head on his chest. He was at a loss to comfort Vince--in fact, Howard realized, he was out of practice. When was the last time he’d had to soothe Vince through one of his strops? He racked his brain. It had been weeks, no, _months_... in fact, _Vince_ had been the one soothing Howard through his frequent mood swings and emotional crises, offering Howard comfort. Vince had been the one to buy the chocolate and ice cream on which Howard had been gorging himself all night as he watched sad films and felt sorry for himself. He’d fussed over Howard, buying Howard all sorts of herbal teas in an attempt to find a caffeine-free alternative that Howard didn’t hate, ensuring every one of his pregnancy cravings, no matter how weird, was fulfilled. He’d accompanied Howard to all of his prenatal checkups, had given Howard countless massages, and had even, up until lately, attempted to take his job at the Nabootique seriously... all because Howard had needed him. And Howard had lashed out at him, all because Vince had gone out a few times, even if he’d stayed in for months on end, putting his social life on hold to stay home and nurse Howard through his pregnancy. And now Vince was crying, all because Howard had taken him for granted.

Howard felt like an ungrateful tit.

“I’m trying, Howard, but s’not enough,” Vince choked through his tears. “Been trying to do everything right and it’s so _exhausting_ and I’m scared and tired, and I…” he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. He wanted to convey the enormity of his feelings for Howard, how important it was that he remain involved in Howard and Cassie’s lives, but words had never come easy to him, and especially not when he was half-drunk and sleep-deprived. 

“I know, Little Man,” Howard soothed, the nickname rusty on his tongue. “I know.” He ran his fingers through Vince’s drooping hair, snagging in the places where the hairspray still held. He swallowed against the enormity of his emotions, then tried again. “You’ve done so much for Cassie and I, Vince--and I, _we_ , well, we haven’t done such a good job of letting you know how much we appreciate it, now, have we?”

Vince lifted his head from Howard’s bosom, his eyes wide and wet and full of longing. “But I messed up--I been skiving off work, staying out all night--”

Howard brushed Vince’s bangs off his forehead, fighting the impulse to kiss the worry lines away. “You haven’t messed up,” he said softly. “No, _I’m_ the one who’s messed things up--I know going out is important to you, and I’ve been selfish, keeping you here with me every night when you could be out having fun--”

“But I _wasn’t_ having fun!” Vince cried. “Maybe that kinda stuff used to be important to me, but Howard--all I could think of was you and Cassie, sitting at home, being sad, and all I wanted was to come home and make you happy again--”

“Oh, Vince,” Howard said, voice trembling. He felt about to cry, and for once, he couldn’t blame it on the pregnancy hormones. Well. Not completely. “You do make Cassie and me happy, you _do--”_

“Then why’re we both crying?”

Howard couldn’t help but chuckle around his tears. “Because we’re idiots?” Vince cracked half a smile. “Look, we both have a lot to learn about parenting. It’s not easy. It’s never going to be easy. But--there’s no one else I could imagine doing this with. We’ll figure it out. We’ll learn together.” 

“Like that time with the ocelots?” Vince slurred. 

“Like the time with the ocelots,” Howard replied. Vince cuddled his head into the crook of Howard’s neck, resting his hands on Howard’s belly, hoping Cassie could feel all the love and hope he had for her through the layers of clothes and skin and amniotic fluid that separated them. 

“M’sorry, Howard,” he said, sleepily. 

“I’m sorry, too,” said Howard. He pressed a light kiss to Vince’s hair, hoping he wouldn’t notice. 

Naboo emerged, shirtless, turban askew, and went to the refrigerator before realizing his tenants were canoodling on his sofa. He made a gagging noise, and turned to leave, but not before uttering, “Gross, I’m never leaving the attic again.” Vince and Howard laughed quietly, relishing the return to their new normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has been reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! Hang in there... it won't be much longer now...


	16. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only thing funner than having fun is having safe fun, so Vince and Howard decide to babyproof the flat. Buying the supplies falls to Vince. Can he do it successfully? Further discussions are had on the storage of Naboo's drugs, and the Shaman Council drops in with some good news for the boys.  
> Sounds good?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ALittleBooshMaid for the beta and Britpicking!

The peace between Vince and Howard grew from tentative and delicate at first to a sturdy, steady thing. Vince did his best to work past his insecurities and hone his responsible side, as well as his parenting skills. Howard tried to be a little less pathetic. He didn’t succeed, necessarily, but he tried. 

It was Howard who suggested they baby-proof the flat. He’d read about in one of his parenting books, and the idea took hold like a stubborn bulldog and wouldn’t let go. He kept nattering on about electrical outlets and locking drawers and cupboards. Vince thought it sounded well boring until Howard explained what exactly would happen to little Cassie if she got curious and stuck her finger in an exposed electrical socket. Blue eyes wide in terror, Vince suddenly cared very much about baby-proofing their home. 

Together they read the baby-proofing to do list provided in  _ Facts for Reading While You’re Breeding _ and made their own list of things to purchase. Howard wanted to go with Vince to make sure he bought the correct items (and didn’t spend the money on sweets for himself or  _ more  _ stuffed toys for Cassie), but he was also growing very self-conscious of being literally the only pregnant man on earth. As he started to show more and more, he wanted to leave the flat less and less. 

Even simple excursions like trips to the market incited stares and uncomfortable questions. Always self-conscious of his appearance, Howard felt even more awkward in public as his bump grew and his pregnancy became more obvious and difficult to hide. In the early months, he’d been able to pass off his burgeoning baby bump as nothing more than a particularly large beer-belly, but now, his growing tits and round stomach made it obvious that he had a baby on the way.

Howard supposed he could understand strangers’ fascination with the concept of a pregnant man, but unlike Vince, he’d never learned how to stand out in a crowd. As Vince had often reminded him, Howard’s features were as bland as ambient music, and he’d gone through most of his life overlooked and easily able to blend in no matter the circumstances. Now, however, wherever he went, he was stared at, or even worse, had to face uncomfortable assumptions about his gender (no, Howard had  _ not _ been born a woman), his sexuality (which was confusing even to Howard), and how he’d managed to get pregnant in the first place (oddly enough, people tended to shut down the conversation quite quickly when he mentioned having been abducted by aliens).

So he’d sent Vince to the DIY store with a rather long list of necessary items: plastic plugs for outlets, latches for cabinet doors, and bumpers for the many corners and sharp edges around the flat. 

Vince stuck the list into one of his shiny silver boots, as the purple catsuit he was wearing was too tight for pockets. He flashed Howard a reassuring smile--it was obvious the man was on the verge of another pregnancy crisis. Howard’s natural inclination towards anxiety and his general control-freak tendencies were being aggravated by his inability to join Vince on his errand.

“And don’t forget your mobile!” Howard reminded.

Vince fought the impulse to roll his eyes. “Don’t you worry, Howard, I got this.” He did, however, flash his mobile, making a show of putting it in his other boot in an attempt to calm Howard’s anxiety before it became a full-blown crisis. “Just call me if there’s anything you forgot to put on the list, yeah?”

Howard’s eyes widened and Vince immediately regretted his choice of words. “Let me see the list again, just to double check--”

“You’ve already  _ quadruple _ checked it,” Vince grumbled. “The DIY store closes in an hour. At this rate, they’ll be closed before I even get there.”

Still nervous, Howard swallowed and nodded. Ever since the night Vince had come home early from the club and the heartfelt conversation that followed, he’d been making a conscious effort to be less of a neurotic mess, with varying degrees of success. “You’ll call me if you have any questions?”

“I promise.” Vince flashed another smile, and the ball of anxiety in Howard’s stomach unfurled a bit. Only a bit, but it was a start.

Even so, Howard stayed close to the phone, just in case. He tried to distract himself with a nature documentary on the breeding habits of opposums, but he was too edgy to concentrate properly, although he did learn that opposums had thirteen nipples: twelve nipples arranged in a circle with one in the middle. He’d never been so thankful to be a pregnant human man. Being a pregnant opposum sounded rather gruesome. 

He answered the first call before the first ring could even finish sounding. “Hello, yes, what is it?”

“Howard, calm down,” Vince said across the line. “Listen, how much are we willing to spend on the baby gate? They have a really nice one but it’s more--”

“Buy it,” Howard interrupted. “If it’s the better gate, just get it.” 

“Cheers. And stop being so cagey, go sit and listen to jazz or something.” Vince hung up. 

Howard did not go listen to jazz or something. He continued to pace around the flat, keeping an eye on the phone, which rang again twice more with equally innocuous questions. Then, he waited, keeping an eye on the clock in anticipation of Vince’s return.

What should have taken about twenty minutes ended up taking closer to forty and Howard’s palms had broken into a profuse, nervous sweat. He felt anxiety coiling in his stomach and forcing its way up his throat. What if something had happened to Vince? What if he’d gotten stopped on the way home? Dressed the way he was, Howard  _ knew  _ Vince was an easy target for chavs and other undesirables. God, what if he was lying on the side of the road, right now, a plastic bag of unused baby-proofing items in the gutter beside him--

At that moment, the door to the flat creaked open, followed by a terrific clomping up the stairs, signifying Vince’s return, and Howard felt relief untie the knots in his body all at once, like air being let out of a balloon fit to burst. Vince ascended the stairs, the telltale rustling of plastic bags accompanying his footfalls. Howard dashed to meet him there, trying not to look anxious and failing miserably. 

“All right,” Vince greeted, smiling. He was laden with parcels, and suddenly Howard felt like an idiot for worrying. Of course Vince would be slowed down, he didn’t have a cart or a car to load the purchases into. “I stopped for takeaway, figured we could have dinner,” Vince said, and thrust one of the bags into Howard’s hands. Smells of curry and vindaloo wafted in and the hunger Howard felt let him know that the last of his anxiety has dissipated. He was safe, Vince was safe, they were going to be fine. 

Vince chirped happily about the things he’d found for the baby-proofing, proudly showing off his purchases like a dog shows off a stick it fetched in the park. Howard smiled and nodded his approval--Vince had done well, had even found a couple of things  _ not  _ on the list such as baby gates and a device for tying up the cords on blinds,  _ and _ he’d brought food. Howard was liberal with his praise, and Vince preened under it. Even after years of knowing each other and living together and being close and being further apart, the desire to please Howard was deeply a part of who Vince was as a person, and his success warmed him from head to toe. 

The two men were settled at the kitchen table, eating and chatting about their baby-proofing plans, when Naboo and Bollo came thundering down the stairs.

Naboo immediately began rifling through the cabinets and muttering to himself. “Now, where did I put my LSD?” His brow furrowed. “I know I put it somewhere safe when I was high...”

“Naboo!” Vince admonished. “You’re not still storing your drugs in the kitchen, are you? We’ve  _ talked _ about this.”

Naboo rolled his eyes. “Where else am I supposed to store them? I’ve got a perfectly functional drug rack right here.” He opened a cabinet to reveal a spice rack that he’d repurposed for the purpose of storing his stash. He’d crossed out the labels, replacing the names of the spices with things like “Marijuana: Indica”, “Marijuana: Sativa”, “PCP: crystal”, “PCP: liquid”, and “poppers”.

Howard almost choked on his mouthful of korma. Vince rushed behind him, ready to perform the Heimlich manoeuver, when Howard swallowed. “Naboo, how many times do we have to tell you! You can’t keep your drugs in the kitchen! What if Cassie gets into your stash?”

“Then her mind will be opened to the vast... vastness... of the universe,” Naboo said matter-of-factly. “You’ve got to start them young if you want them to be able to handle their drugs. Look at Dennis! That man loses his mind after one puff off the hookah.”

“No want Cassie be like Dennis,” Bollo agreed. “Dennis lightweight, and big ballbag.”

At exactly that moment, someone knocked on the window. A glance revealed that the Shaman Council had pulled up on their magic carpet, while Saboo mimed opening the window. Distracted from the drug rack discourse, Naboo walked over to let them in.

The Shaman tumbled through the window, falling into a graceless pile on the kitchen floor. 

“Oh, Naboo! Getting started without us?” keened Tony Harrison in his horrid, nasally voice. Howard lost his appetite. He couldn’t believe the Shaman were here, now, in his home, but then again, they seemed to be there a lot more often since Naboo and Bollo had moved into the attic. 

“No, just arguing with these two bellends about proper drug storage,” replied Naboo. 

“You all must agree that the kitchen is hardly a suitable place for one’s, er, stash, especially with a baby in the house,” posited Howard. 

“But where else am I supposed to put my drug rack?” Naboo asked rhetorically.

The Shaman looked at Howard with disgust. To Howard’s shock and horror, Tony Harrison answered, “I can see your point, Tom Selleck. I keep all my drugs at Saboo’s.”

“ _ You  _ have children?” Vince shrieked, horrified. 

“No, but the missus doesn’t like it and it’s bad for the cats.” Vince looked equally horrified to learn Tony Harrison had cats. 

“I mean, why would you keep your drugs down here anyway?” Kirk asked. “They’re a whole staircase away, and it’s hard to get a good bender going if you have to worry about stairs.”

Both the Shaman Council and Vince and Howard looked amazed that Kirk had managed to say something reasonable for once. Usually, he spoke only in slurred fragmented nonsense, or else to tell frightening tales about his many depraved sexual practices.

“Well, it’s settled,” Howard said. Not even Naboo could refute such sound logic. “Naboo will keep his drug rack in his bedroom, far away from Cassie.” He narrowed his eyes and regarded the Shaman Council suspiciously. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“That’s a nice way to greet your legal counsel, which, I might add, is being done pro bono,” groused Saboo. “We have an update for you.”

“About the lawyerings,” added Tony Harrison, grinning. 

“‘Lawyerings’ isn’t a word, I’ve told you once, I’ll tell you a million times,” Saboo said, rolling his eyes. 

“Aw, don’t get your knickers in a twist just because you don’t know the finer points of Sex Law Lawyerings.” 

“What update?” interrupted Howard. He knew by now that left on their own, Tony Harrison and Saboo would and could argue for the next four hundred years. 

“As promised at our last gathering, my esteemed colleague and I,” Tony Harrison paused and pointed a tentacle in Saboo’s direction, “made the perilous trek to Uranus.” 

“His anus  _ is  _ treacherous,” muttered Kirk under his breath. The entire council giggled like children, and Vince had to try really hard not to join in. 

“Was it tight and dark getting in?” asked Dennis, cheeks reddening with the effort of not guffawing. Saboo and Tony Harrison cackled along with the rest of the council. 

“All right, yes, ha ha ha,” said Howard blandly, obviously not amused that his legal counsel had the maturity level of 8-year-old boys. “What did you find out?”

“Well, first, we roughed ‘em up a bit,” said Tony Harrison, resuming narration of the tale. “Saboo can be quite threatening when he wants to be, even if he dresses like a damned conquistador.” 

Saboo lifted his fists as though he was going to enter an old timey boxing match. Then he struck a pose flexing his muscles, which were well hidden beneath his billowy black sleeves. He kissed his biceps before adding, “Even Uranus knows to fear these guns.” 

“ _ His  _ anus fears anything going in,” Kirk muttered. Another round of giggles erupted. 

“Anyway,” said Tony Harrison, much to Howard’s relief but also his confusion because how had Tony Harrison become the voice of reason in all this? “After we threatened to show them the meaning of the Crunch, we lawyered the hell out of them! Oh, I was dropping  _ mens reas  _ and  _ casus  _ _ incogitatis,  _ and they had no idea what hit ‘em! Completely ignorant in the finer points of Sex Law.” 

“We gave them a number, a high one, to intimidate them first,” added Saboo. 

“Then we lowered it only slightly, and Saboo performed some very good sleight-of-hand to scare them into accepting our offer,” Tony Harrison continued, looking with pride at Saboo, who grimaced in reply. 

“Long story short,” continued Tony Harrison, “you’ll be receiving child support in the amount of 75 thousand Euros per anum until the spawn reaches the age of legality on earth, whatever that is.” 

Howard’s jaw visibly dropped. Vince’s eyes, which seemed large and doll-like at the best of times, positively bugged from his chiseled face. 

“S-seventy-five  _ thousand  _ Euros?” Howard choked. 

“I told you, we’re the best,” said Saboo. “We started off with one hundred thousand, completely certain that would never work. Frankly, you’re lucky they’re such idiots. The Honorable Almighty Judy has already reviewed the paperwork. Your first cheque will arrive the January after the baby is delivered, or hatched, or whatever disgusting method will wrench it forth into existence.” 

“Huh,” Vince wondered aloud, “how  _ is _ the baby going to come out, Howard?”

Howard felt vaguely nauseated as he considered the possibilities. The books he’d read on pregnancy and childbirth had been rather graphic in their depictions of the birthing process, but Howard was unsure how much would be relevant to his situation. He lacked a vagina, and to be honest, he wasn’t altogether sure he even had a womb. In addition Naboo had been strangely silent on how, exactly, he planned to get the baby out of Howard’s stomach.

The Shaman collectively shuddered and gagged. “None of us want to hear about this,” said Dennis. “We came to deliver the news, it’s delivered, Naboo, grab your drug rack and let’s go to the Penthouse.”   


“The Penthouse?” Vince asked incredulously. 

“S’what they call my room now,” Naboo lisped, shrugging. He and Bollo balanced the drug rack between them and followed the rest of the Shaman upstairs. 

Vince’s eyebrows knit together, showing that he was obviously piecing together something. There were a few things he was piecing together. Seventy-five thousand Euro per year was a  _ lot  _ of money--much more than his and Howard’s yearly salaries combined. He tried to add up how much it would be over the course of Cassie’s life but lost interest once he’d reached year 3. He did know that it meant Cassie would never want for  _ anything.  _ She could have the best of everything, attend whatever schools she wanted, wear whatever she desired, never be hungry or cold, have the best medical care… the feeling was equivalent to a sigh after holding your breath for too long.  _ Relief,  _ thought Vince. 

Then, he couldn’t stop thinking about how Cassie was going to exit Howard. It scared him, and Vince did not like being scared. “Howard?” he asked, worried. “How will the baby come out?”

“I don’t know,” Howard admitted. Truth was, he avoided thinking about that part of his pregnancy as much as possible. “I suppose we ought to ask Naboo at my next prenatal checkup.”

As a young nipper in the jungle, Vince had seen many babies born. While the birth of a new baby animal was always a joyous occasion, birth was fraught with danger, especially in a harsh landscape full of dangerous predators. Even if Howard didn’t have to worry about being eaten by a panther as he gave birth, Vince had seen more than one delivery go wrong for both the mother and the baby. 

The idea that Howard or Cassie might not survive the birth made him feel like he couldn’t breathe. If anything happened to either of them, Vince might not survive it. He resolved to have a private chat with Naboo on this topic later. He, Vince, needed to know so he could prepare himself, to figure out how best to help and support and prepare Howard and do whatever he could to make sure that both Howard and Cassie got through the ordeal unscathed. 

Vince was interrupted from his thoughts by a large hand on his shoulder. Howard was looking down at him with an expression of concern on his face.

“Hey little man, what are you thinking?” Howard asked. 

Vince swallowed. He knew he could not share the morbid turn his thoughts had taken with Howard. If Howard had any idea what Vince was thinking, he would surely spend the next three-and-a-half months fixated on his own mortality.

So Vince lied. “Nothing,” he said, forcing a chuckle. “You know me, me head’s as empty as a beach ball.” He forced a cheery grin as he added, “That’s a lot of money, though, isn’t it, Howard?”

Howard made a face of disbelief. “It certainly is, Little Man. We’ll need to plan very carefully, maybe invest some of--”

A switch in Vince’s brain clicked to the “off” position as soon as it heard the word “invest.” He nodded politely, and cleaned up the takeaway containers when they’d both finished eating. He let Howard natter on as he prepared them some tea, more out of habit than anything else. 

The two men settled into the couch with their teacups to catch reruns of  _ Colobus the Crab _ . He’d seen the episode a dozen times before, but Vince was comforted by the familiarity. As Howard’s eyes crinkled with mirth at the same old jokes, Vince curled around him on the couch, his face resting on Howard’s belly.

Howard’s fingers carded through his hair, hesitant at first, then more confident as he was assured that Vince would not snap and tell him to keep his hands off his barnet. Though Vince had always been handsy, even more so since Howard had become pregnant, the blatant cuddling was a bit out-of-character, even for Vince. “What are you doing down there, little man?” he asked.

“Shh,” Vince shushed. “I’m trying to listen.”

“To what, my digestion?”

“No, you crease! To  _ Cassie _ .”

Howard couldn’t help himself: he laughed, a big, belly-bursting sound. “What is she saying?” he asked when he’d managed to get himself under control.

“She’s saying that you need to update your look,” Vince said, straight-faced and serious. “She’s going to be well fashionable, little Cassie is, and she thinks you need to lay off the corduroy and tweed.”

Howard mussed Vince’s hair affectionately. “Well, Cassie talks to me all the time, and she says you need to lay off the Lycra and the skinsuits. She doesn’t want you overshadowing her, you know.”

Vince tossed his head back and laughed. His laughter was infectious, and Howard, swept up in Vince’s enthusiasm, joined him soon enough. The two men chuckled together on the couch, Vince’s fears forgotten for the moment.

This was better than clubs and dancing and flirtinis combined, Vince thought, better than anything. There was nowhere he’d rather be than sat beside Howard and Cassie on the couch, laughing together like the happy family he’d never had--that neither he nor Howard had ever had, for that matter. Vince wished that the moment would never end, that he could have this always.

Meanwhile, upstairs in the attic, an intoxicated Shaman Council gathered around Naboo’s crystal ball, spying on the two men in their moment of domestic bliss.

“Look at them,” sneered Saboo, gazing into the crystal ball. Dennis was in the corner of the room muttering something about the black dog, Kirk was hanging off Naboo’s bed, and Naboo, Bollo, Tony Harrison, and Saboo sat scrying in the center of the floor. “This is absolutely disgusting, I don’t know how you can tolerate it in your own home.” 

“Aww, they’re in love!” cried Tony Harrison. “That’s nice, isn’t it? Your little pets fell in love, Naboo.” 

Naboo made a choking sound. “Pass the poppers,” he demanded. “I need to forget that this ever happened if I’m going to continue living with those two lovesick idiots.” 

Saboo took another hit, then passed them to the smaller shaman. “Let’s look at something else.” 

“American cheerleaders!” yelled Kirk. The suggestion was met with whoops and cheers of agreement. The image in the crystal ball swirled and dissipated, and the Shaman Council spent the rest of the evening getting high and abusing Naboo’s collection of magical implements to letch away the night. 


	17. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Vince prepares for Cassie in the way he does best--by creating a custom wardrobe for the little alien baby. He and Howard discuss important things like gender roles and parenting. Later, Cassie kicks for the first time, and Howard rushes to show Vince. Will Howard get the reaction he’s hoping for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to ALittleBooshMaid for all their help. Without them, we never would have known that in the UK, a "grilled cheese" is a "cheese toastie"!

Vince was sat at his sewing machine, which he’d moved into the nursery with the excuse that he had more space to work there instead of in his and Howard’s crowded room. He was hard at work, concentrating on sewing ruffles onto a tiny pink dress, his tongue between his teeth in an expression of intense concentration.

He barely noticed when Howard let himself into the room. “Vince?”

Vince grunted in acknowledgement.

“Remember that nice bread and eggs you picked up over at the market? Just wanted to ask if you’d fancy a cheese toastie for supper, or if you’d prefer an omelette and toast instead...”

Still focused on his sewing, Vince made a noncommittal sound.

“Vince?” Howard asked, placing a hand on Vince’s shoulder.

Vince startled. “Blimey, Howard!” he griped, removing the ruffled pink dress from beneath the needle. “You startled me! And I dropped the seam...” He squinted at the offending imperfect ruffle, turning to rifle through his sewing basket for his seam ripper.

“Was just dropping in to ask what you wanted for supper,” Howard repeated.

Engrossed in his work, Vince paid him no mind.

“Right then, cheese toastie it is,” Howard sighed, casting a glance over the nursery. The baby hadn’t even been born, yet the nursery was already in a right state, which did not bode well for Howard’s appreciation of organization and order. 

Not only was the nursery itself already overflowing with toys and books, the small dresser had begun to overflow with baby clothes. Ever since finishing the mural, Vince had had much more time to devote to making little outfits for Cassie.

With another, even more melodramatic sigh, Howard opened one of the overflowing dresser drawers and set about the task of folding the baby clothes in an attempt to make everything fit properly. Vince had devoted himself to his self-appointed task as Cassie’s personal stylist with an enthusiasm that he normally saved for Topshop sales or creating memorable outfits for one of the myriad parties to which he was always being invited...

Suddenly, Howard realized that Vince hadn’t been out to a party in  _ weeks _ , maybe even  _ months. _ He wracked his brain, trying to remember the last time that Vince had dolled himself up to hit a club opening or house party, and was startled to realize that the last time he could remember was the night Vince had come home early and they’d had  _ that  _ conversation. Well, Howard mused, that explained how Vince had found the time to make so many different baby-sized articles of clothing, as well as several outfits for Howard himself...

“You’ve certainly been keeping yourself busy in here,” Howard remarked. 

Finally, Vince looked up from his sewing long enough to acknowledge Howard’s presence. “I found this book at the library, full of patterns for baby clothes! I’ve been experimenting with modifying them a bit, making them a little more glam-rock...” He shook out the little ruffled dress. “I even got some fancy sequins for this one. Can you believe there’s such a thing as mermaid sequins? ‘Cept they’re not called that because they’re made of mermaids. Which is probably a good thing because it would be well sad if you had to kill the mermaids to harvest their sequins... They  _ are _ double-sided though, so you can flip them one way and they’re one color, but flip them the other and they’re another...”

Howard hummed, absorbed in his task of folding baby clothes as Vince nattered on. He was impressed not only by the sheer number of baby clothes, but also by the incredible variety of styles and the attention to detail. He was working his way through a stack of onesies when he noticed something curious: scattered between the pink and purple onesies adorned with patchwork unicorns and flowers, there were blue and green onesies decorated with dinosaurs, robots, and cars. 

Howard wrinkled his nose. “Robots and dinosaurs?” he asked. “Are you  _ sure _ those are appropriate for a little girl, Vince?”

“What’s wrong with robots and dinosaurs?” Vince lay the dress he’d been working on in his lap.

“Well, aren’t those sorts of things kind of... boyish?”

“You know,” Vince drawled, “for a pregnant man, you sure do have some old-fashioned ideas about gender.”

“What are you trying to say, Vince?” Howard sniped. It wasn’t like Vince to be so passive-aggressive, and Howard found himself annoyed by it.

Vince threw his hands up in exasperation. “The baby isn’t even born yet! Don’t you think it’s a little early to be forcing gender norms onto her?”

“Cassie’s a  _ girl _ . She should dress like a girl,” Howard corrected. Vince’s face fell, and a strange guilty feeling twisted in Howard’s gut. “Oh,” he said, feeling stupid. He looked at Vince, who was wearing a woman’s blouse, leggings, and a pile of gaudy costume jewelry, understanding all at once why Vince was so upset.

After all, Vince had always referred to himself as the Confuser, often poking fun at himself for being not-quite-man, not-quite-woman, and not-as-good as either. He always said those kinds of things in such a carefree way that it had never occurred to Howard that Vince might have felt anything less than proud of his androgynous appearance. But then again, Vince used humor as a defense mechanism more than anything else. Perhaps he’d merely thought that by making fun of himself first, he’d beat any bullies to the punchline. 

“C’mere, little man,” Howard said, drawing Vince into a hug. It wasn’t as tight of a hug as he’d intended, as Howard’s belly bulged between them. “Maybe she won’t want to be a princess. Maybe she’ll want to be a prince, or a knight--”

“Or a court jester,” Vince interrupted, a wide smile on his face. 

“We’ll just have to let her decide for herself,” Howard said. “Whatever she wants to be when she grows up, we’ll still be her daddies.”

Vince stared up at Howard, his eyes gone wide with surprise that Howard had referred to him as the father to his child. “D’ya really mean that, Howard?” Vince asked. His voice was hopeful, and his chest swelled with love and pride.

“Of course I do. She can be whatever she wants to be when she grows up--”

“Not that! I mean, that’s important too, but that other thing... about us  _ both _ being the daddy...”

“Oh. That.” Howard had been so caught up in the moment that he hadn’t quite realized what he was saying. He considered the idea for a minute, and perhaps he should have been surprised that picturing him and Vince raising the little alien baby as their own didn’t seem as weird as it should have. Instead, it filled him with a feeling of warmth that threatened to overflow. “Sometimes a family is a pregnant man, his gender-confused wife, and their alien baby.”

Vince smiled so wide that his cheeks ached and flung his arms around Howard’s bump, pulling the other man close. “I’m going to be a daddy,” he whistled, “Imagine that!” He’d already been happy that Howard was going to be a dad, and had assumed that Howard would let him be the baby’s cool uncle. But now he was going to be something even better than a cool uncle--he was going to be a cool  _ dad! _ With Howard as the other father, he knew that their little alien baby was going to need a role model to teach them about good music and the latest fashion trends. It was bound to be a lot of work, but Vince knew he would be up to the task.

As ecstatic as he was, his heart still ached to know that he hadn’t been the one to put the baby in Howard’s belly. Vince tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter--he was going to be Cassie’s father in all the ways that mattered, especially since the Uranian aliens that had impregnated Howard had made it clear that they wanted nothing to do with the child. Even though he knew it was completely selfish of him, Vince wished that  _ he’d _ been the one to make Howard swell with child. That he’d been the one responsible for Howard’s glowing skin and his excited anticipation. As much as he tried to pretend otherwise, his feelings for his best friend had grown along with Howard’s baby bump, grown and swelled until it was no longer enough for Vince to be Howard’s best friend, or even the father of his child--he wanted to be Howard’s  _ lover _ too. 

Vince tried to force down the lump in his throat, but the emotion was too big for him to swallow. Instead, he buried his face in Howard’s chest to hide the tears prickling at his eyes.

“Are you... crying?” Howard asked, feeling awkward and useless. Vince had been so enthusiastic about the whole pregnancy thing, much more so than Howard himself, that he’d thought that Vince would be happy to be the baby’s other father, but perhaps he’d misjudged the situation...

Vince’s voice was muffled by Howard’s bosom. “They’re happy tears, you berk,” he sniffed. It was only half the truth, but it was close enough that Vince figured it didn’t count as a lie. Vince didn’t want to ruin the moment by admitting that he wanted to be more than the father of Howard’s child--he wanted to be  _ with _ Howard, in all the ways that mattered. He was going to be Howard’s baby daddy. It would have to do.

Howard lay a hesitant hand on Vince’s head, mindful not to muss his friend’s carefully-styled hair too much as he affectionately skritched his scalp. Vince tightened his hold on Howard’s middle and kept sobbing into his tits. “C’mon, little man,” Howard murmured. “Let’s get some food into you, yeah? I know I always get... emotional... when I’m hungry.”

“That’s ‘cause you’ve got a bun in the oven,” Vince snuffled. “I’m happy, not  _ pregnant _ .”

“I’ll make you a cheese toastie,” Howard offered. Cheese toasties always cheered Vince up.

Howard  _ did _ make an excellent cheese toastie, so Vince reluctantly loosened his grip on Howard’s waist, but not before wiped his nose on Howard’s shirt. Howard was kind enough to pretend he hadn’t noticed.

The following day, Howard was tidying the kitchen when he felt an utterly strange sensation. He didn’t know how to describe it, other than the feeling of popcorn popping but inside. Inside  _ him.  _ Standing stock still, he waited to see if it happened again. 

It did. 

A rush of excitement and emotion poured over him like a bucket of water. Feeling Cassie kick for the first time felt like something out of a science fiction movie--the fact that Howard’s entire pregnancy was a bad science-fiction cliche notwithstanding. The little flutter inside his belly felt strange. He’d read that eventually, he’d be able to see movement rather than just feeling it. The idea that he would be able to see his baby moving beneath his skin seemed… abnormal. 

Immediately following Howard’s brief moment of terror and discomfort came an overwhelming sense of what could only be described as paternal love. That was  _ his  _ baby moving in there. Cassie was alive and kicking, literally. There really _ was _ a baby, a brand new life, growing and forming inside of him, and one day soon, he would be able to hold her against his chest and look into her little face. He’d hold this strange thing kicking inside of him at this very moment in his arms, wrapped in blankets, and kiss her forehead. 

He placed his hands on his stomach, willing Cassie to kick again so he could feel it. When she did, he gasped and chuckled to himself, tears of joy pricking his eyes. “Hello, little one,” he whispered, and had been rewarded with another kick. 

He wanted to race to the rooftop once more and shout from it, “My daughter is kicking!” He wanted to tell the Uranians, the Shaman Council, the entirety of London… anyone who would listen. But most of all, he wanted to tell Vince. 

He hadn’t meant to vocalise the long-internalized thought that a family was a pregnant man, his gender-confused wife, and their alien baby, but once he had spoken the words aloud it was like the spell had been cast. Vince and Cassie  _ were  _ his family, and he loved them. And right now, he needed to let Vince feel their daughter kick. 

“Vince?” he called, voice quivering a bit with emotion. Vince poked his head out from the inside of the nursery, where he was back at work sewing again. 

“All right, Howard?”

“Come here,” Howard commanded. Seeing Howard’s bright eyes, Vince rushed into the kitchen, afraid something terrible had happened to Cassie. But then Howard lifted his shirt, grabbed Vince’s hand, and placed it over the spot where the twitching was centered. Vince laid his palm flat against Howard’s stomach, eyes wide with shock at the improbable fact that Howard had initiated skin-on-skin contact.

_ There.  _

It felt like having butterflies in your stomach, only physical instead of metaphorical. Howard could feel the pressure between his skin and Vince’s hand, and knew Vince felt it, too. 

“Is that...?” Vince’s giant blue eyes bored into Howard’s, shock, amazement, and awe chasing each other across his features in rapid succession. Howard smirked, satisfied that he’d gotten such a reaction out of Vince. 

He had not been expecting the reaction he got, which was Vince using his free hand to grab the back of Howard’s head and pull him in for a kiss. Right there in the kitchen, in broad daylight, Vince’s other hand still flat across Howard’s stomach. 

The butterflies were now both literal and figurative, and Howard was entirely too hormonal for this. His lips tingled where Vince’s fit over his own, and when he opened his mouth to gasp for air, Vince’s tongue wriggled inside. It was unlike anything Howard had ever felt--the long-ago kiss they’d shared on the rooftop paled in comparison. Though Howard had been unable to stop thinking about that kiss since it had happened, he’d just been trying to keep Dennis the Head Shaman from decapitating Vince. It hadn’t meant anything. But this kiss, now--well, it meant  _ everything _ .

Vince tasted like strawberries and sunshine. His lips were soft and sweet against Howard’s own, just as Howard had imagined, though unexpectedly, his chin prickled against Howard’s with the barest hint of stubble. One of Vince’s hands grasped Howard by the hips, pulling him close, until the swell of Howard’s belly pressed against Vince’s firm, flat stomach. The sensation made Howard’s heart began to race, and as it did, Cassie kicked around inside him, as though jigging with the joy that danced in Howard’s chest. 

Suddenly, Vince pulled back, lips slick and eyes still wide. He ruffled a hand through his hair sheepishly. “Sorry, Howard, I just--I got so excited, and I’m so in--”

Howard didn’t wait to hear what he had to say. He closed the gap between them, his lips desperately seeking Vince’s. Their teeth clacked and Vince smiled around the kiss, but Howard kept at it, touch-starved, hormones raging, and  _ desperate  _ for more. His hands were in Vince’s hair in a trice--he knew this was typically off limits, but he wanted to card his fingers through it so badly. Vince hummed in pleasure, and Howard knew he was being granted permission to continue. 

Their bodies pressed together, the long weeks, months,  _ years  _ of desire finally coming to fruition. Howard was all curves and bumps against Vince’s long, lean hardness. It was nothing like Vince had imagined (and he’d been imagining it quite often)--it was  _ better _ .

Howard’s kisses were hesitant, his moustache scraping tentatively against Vince’s smoothly-shaven upper lip. When Vince slipped his tongue into Howard’s mouth, Howard startled, but Vince prodded his tongue with his own, until Howard’s tongue cautiously began to twine around his. It was a little sloppy, a little too shy to be a good kiss, and Vince wondered absently if Howard had gotten his technique from a book, then immediately felt stupid--of  _ course _ Howard hadn’t had much experience with this. Certainly none of Howard’s past partners had bothered much with kissing; after all, Vince had stolen his first kiss that night on the roof. Vince resolved to kiss Howard often enough that he shed his self-consciousness, until he could kiss Vince back without a hint of inhibition--

The very idea of Howard letting go of his many years of sexual repression made Vince moan and crush their bodies together. His erection brushed against Howard’s hip, and the friction made his cock jump with anticipation. Vince had never wanted anyone the way he wanted Howard; he wanted Howard to feel how badly Vince wanted him, no,  _ needed _ him...

Howard was lost in the kiss, in the taste and smell and feel of Vince in his arms. He was startled by the curious sensation of something hot and stiff against his hip. It took him a few moments to realize that the hot and stiff something was Vince’s  _ cock _ .

Though he now knew that he was no longer a virgin, Howard was overwhelmed by the realization that Vince  _ wanted to have sex with him, Howard Moon. _ As good as it felt to kiss Vince, it was too much, too soon.... Howard broke the kiss, taking a step back, just enough to put some space between himself and Vince’s penis.

Vince keened. The need in his voice almost made Howard capitulate, especially when Vince’s hand slid into his back pockets to grope at his arse and attempt to push their bodies back together. But Howard held firm. “Vince.”

“Oh,  _ Howard _ ,” Vince breathed, eyes closed, mouth slack and open, licking his lips. “Howard. Howard.  _ Howard--” _

No one had ever said Howard’s name in quite that way, and Howard’s resolve wavered. He steeled himself, standing up straight, taking another small step back. “Vince. Listen. I have to tell you...” Howard pressed his palm against Vince’s chest. Vince’s eyes opened slowly, and he blinked, slowly coming back to himself, before Howard continued. “Listen, Vince, I--kissing you is nice, better than nice, it’s better than anything,  _ ever, _ and I--I want to...” He took a deep breath. “But I’m not ready, not for  _ that, _ not  _ yet...” _

Vince squeaked, putting his hands over his erection, which was obvious through the tight Spandex of his catsuit. “Fuck, Howard, I didn’t--I just--”

Howard was relieved. He’d been afraid that Vince would tease him, mock him for being so nervous and inexperienced. He’d never imagined that  _ Vince _ would be the one losing his carefully-cultivated cool when they finally kissed. He grasped one of Vince’s hands in his own and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his palm. Vince sighed, his eyelids fluttering, an expression of longing on his face.

“Just give me some time. I promise--”

Vince cradled Howard’s face in his hands. “Whatever you need, Howard. However long you need, whatever you need… I’m here. I’ll  _ be _ here. You know that.” 

Vince had always had a tenuous relationship with the truth--he never let reality get in the way of a good story. But Howard swallowed and nodded; he wanted to blink but found he could not look away. Vince’s eyes were big and blue and overflowing with earnestness, and Howard believed him. Because Vince had always, always been there for him: they’d been two lonely, strange children, who had grown into two equally strange men, no longer lonely now that they had each other. 

And as Vince’s fingers traced the shape of Howard’s face, from his moustache to his cheekbones to his brow, Howard knew that neither of them would ever be lonely again. They would always have each other, and in just a few short months, when Cassie arrived, they would make sure that she never had to feel lonely either. 

“We can do that again, though, yeah?” Vince’s voice was small and soft, as though he were asking for something impossible. 

Howard laughed quietly. “Yes,  _ please _ , let’s do that again.” 

Vince covered Howard’s mouth with his own, and it felt like coming home. A home full of warmth and love and family, man and wife and alien, and now that he’d been invited in, Howard knew he would never leave.  
  



	18. Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard and Vince make up for lost time--mostly by making out. First, the boys spend a cozy evening introducing Cassie to their favorite musicians, then Howard has a nightmare and Vince comforts him the way only he can. Just a bunch of fluff, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to ALittleBooshMaid for the beta work and to all our readers and commentors!

Vince rifled through his sewing baskets and the piles of fabric scraps, but no matter where he looked, he couldn’t find his pinking shears. 

“Hey, Howard...?” Vince called.

The flat was conspicuously silent. Vince sighed, shutting the drawer he’d been searching though, and went to look for Howard. As the pregnancy progressed, Howard’s complaints about exhaustion were becoming more and more frequent, and he was even more prone to lazing about the flat.

Vince found him in the living room, lounging on the couch, eyes half-closed with his shirt pulled up to expose his bump. At nearly seven months along, Howard’s belly was fuller than ever. The sight affected Vince more than he’d like to admit. Howard, fully relaxed and sprawled out looking for all the world like a reclining cherub in a Renaissance painting… the sight warmed Vince from head to toe. Vince was happy, so ecstatically happy, that things had taken the turn they had. For years, Vince had pined after Howard, guarded him jealously from prying, nosy, silly girls (and boys, too, only Howard never acknowledged that). And finally, _finally_ they’d crossed the invisible threshold that had been taunting them their whole lives. Vince was so furiously happy he could barely sleep or eat, though he did because it made Howard happy. And Howard made Vince happy--the way he fussed over Vince’s eating and sleeping habits made Vince feel well cared for. The way Howard scatted around the flat, dancing like an idiot, brought Vince a singular kind of joy. The way he kissed Vince, hesitantly, and completely lacking finesse, but made up for with earnestness and emotion… Vince’s heart felt so full. 

Of course, Vince was also kept awake by the niggling fear at the base of his neck, the nasty voice inside him that told him he’d manage to screw all of this up, somehow, that he’d say or do something to send Howard running. The thought cast such a pall over Vince that he squashed it down immediately, but he proceeded cautiously, just in case. Instead of caressing or kissing Howard’s bump, as was his first desire, Vince simply approached quietly, as one did when one’s best friend, co-parent, and snogging partner was in an apparent jazz trance. 

Howard appeared to be deep in his jazz trance, a little smile on his face as he nodded gently along with music only he could hear. “Hey, Howard, have you seen my pinking shears?” Vince asked, approaching Howard carefully so as not to startle him from his jazz trance. Howard had warned him innumerable times about the danger of waking a man from a jazz trance, and now that he was pregnant, Vince assumed that it was even _more_ dangerous. He didn’t want to startle Howard into a miscarriage or anything, not when they were so close to becoming a real family...

“Hmmm?” Howard mumbled. It was clear he hadn’t really been listening.

“My pinking shears,” Vince repeated. “You know, the scissors that make a zigzag pattern when you cut...” He peered over the back of the couch--Howard was wearing a pair of headphones on his stomach, which was well weird, even for a man as weird as Howard. “What are you doing?” 

Howard blinked, eyes finally focusing. “Just teaching my daughter about the joys of jazz music,” Howard said, running a hand over his belly as if that were a perfectly normal thing to do. 

Vince scoffed. “She can’t even escape it in there! It’s just not on.” He sat on the floor beside Howard, looking concerned as he eyed Howard’s belly. “What if she’s allergic? She could be having little tiny hives in there. How do you know she can even hear it?” 

“All the pregnancy books state that by this time the baby can hear outside noises, like music and our voices,” Howard replied matter-of-factly. 

“Really?” Vince was intrigued by the idea. He stuck his face right into Howard’s stomach, sprinkling it with the kind of soft kisses that tickled more than anything else.

“Ooof,” Howard squirmed, pulling Vince off his stomach by his ears. “What are you doing, you ridiculous minx?”

Vince rubbed his ears and pouted. He was tempted to say something saucy about having his ears pulled, which hadn’t hurt so much as titillated him, but he was wary of pushing Howard too far, too fast. Instead, he grinned and spoke directly into Howard’s bellybutton, which had stretched almost inside-out from the growing bump. “Hey, Cassie, you fancy listening to some David Bowie?”

Howard grimaced. “I think Cassie’s a little young for Bowie. Instrumental music is linked to a higher IQ...”

Vince rolled his eyes and patted Howard’s belly affectionately. “But Bowie’s an alien, just like Cassie! It’s her culture! You don’t want to deprive her of her culture now, do you?”

Cassie did a flip in Howard’s belly. Unfortunately, Howard couldn’t lie and say she hadn’t, because Vince’s hand was right on top of her. Plus, Vince knew Cassie’s alien culture was a weak spot for Howard. They’d teamed up against him, and she wasn’t even born yet! 

Howard had a dismal feeling this was going to happen a lot of over the next eighteen or so years. 

They spend the afternoon taking turns exposing Cassie to different kinds of music, Prince being a collective favorite. Unfortunately for Howard, she seemed to enjoy Gary Numan as much as Vince. Howard’s heart swelled with pride when Cassie kicked along to the great jazz chanteuses Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday, Vince had stubbornly insisted on staying by Howard’s side as he played jazz for Cassie, just in case she had a bad reaction. Howard held his hand tight the entire time and had some Piriteze tablets on hand in case of emergency. Though Vince turned a little green, he didn’t break out in a rash.

“You’re certainly tolerating jazz a little better these days,” Howard said, running his thumb over the knuckles of Vince’s hand which was cradled in his own. 

Vince scowled a bit, which made Howard’s insides go all squidgy and warm. Even when Vince was being a bit bratty, Howard still found him adorable. “I guess,” he grumbled, but he didn’t complain when Howard squeezed his hand a little more tightly.

“I’ve read about that. Exposure therapy, they call it... you expose someone to the thing they’re allergic to a little bit at a time, until their immune system learns to tolerate it...”

Vince let Howard ramble on a little bit more. Before his attention could wander any further, he shut Howard up with a kiss. 

That was how Naboo and Bollo found them several minutes later, necking on the couch like two randy teenagers.

“Gross,” Naboo gagged. 

The two men broke apart sheepishly. Vince wiped the saliva from his lips with the back of his hand--Howard was still getting the hang of the whole kissing thing, and tended to get a bit sloppy when he was feeling particularly enthusiastic.

“Bollo not need to see that,” Bollo mumbled.

What Howard did next surprised Vince, who had expected Howard to run and hide and possibly give up on kissing Vince forever. Instead, Howard puffed his chest and proclaimed, “You’d better get used to seeing Vince and I kiss. We’re a proper couple now, you know.”

“You ballbags finally figured things out, huh?” Naboo lisped, eyeing the two men suspiciously, as though he was looking at a batch of LSD that had gone off. 

“That’s right, sir,” said Howard, a note of pride still tingeing his voice. Vince sat, jaw dropped slightly, shocked at this surprising turn of events, though not unpleasantly so. 

Naboo nodded at his familiar. “Well Bollo, time to check the pool. I think the rest of the Council owes me some money.”

“Wait, you guys were _betting_ on us getting together?” Vince asked, appalled.

“Was good bet,” Bollo shrugged. “Only matter of time, really.”

Naboo unfolded a piece of paper he’d extracted from one of the various folds of his robe. “While we’re having this discussion, you guys mind clarifying a few things for me?” 

“Like _what?”_ Vince snapped.

“Well, you two shagged yet? And is Howard as much of a bottom bitch as he looks?”

Vince tossed the headphones at Naboo, who ducked and escaped before Vince could find anything else to throw. Bollo followed, their laughter echoing down the stairs as they escaped to the safety of their attic bedroom. “Wait til the Council hears about this!”

Vince groaned and buried his head in his hands.

“What’s wrong, little man?” Howard asked, slipping a hand over Vince’s shoulder and drawing him close. Vince didn’t try to push him away, which settled the uneasy suspicion Howard was feeling, though he still had to ask... “You’re not.... ashamed of me, are you?”

“Of course not!” Vince exclaimed, burying his head in the soft brown curls that had grown just long enough to skim Howard’s shoulder. “I just wanted this to be special, you know, something just between us for a little bit, at least until...” _Until I’m sure that I won’t make a mess of things_ , he thought, unable to say the terrible thought aloud.

“Until what?” Howard asked, his tone growing a bit sharper. He made as if to remove his arm from Vince’s shoulder, but Vince clasped his hand and held tight.

“Until...” Vince trailed off, swallowing the awful words. Howard narrowed his eyes, and Vince’s heart began to race. Before he could lose his nerve, Vince forced himself to be honest and tell Howard the truth. “It’s just--I don’t know how to be in a relationship! I never done anything like this before, and I keep thinking... when am I gonna do something to screw this all up, and lose you and Cassie forever? That would be worse even than the time you died and I had to bury you and everything--”

Howard’s anger evaporated immediately. He’d been ready for a fight, to yell and say cruel things like he and Vince had done so many times since moving into the flat above the Nabootique, but he _understood_. He’d been so happy these last few days, ever since that first kiss in the nursery, but his happiness had been bittersweet. Good things didn’t happen to Howard Moon, and when they did, they tended to explode, violently and terribly. Knowing Vince was feeling the same fear somehow made Howard feel less afraid. 

“That’s not going to happen,” Howard said, his voice strong and sure. Vince looked at him wide-eyed and uncertain. “I think… we both know we’ve wanted this for a long time. And now, we’ve got a good reason to work things out, bigger than you or me on our own.” He held Vince’s hand over his belly, where Cassie had kicked before. “We might screw up. We probably will,” he added with a chuckle, and got a half-smile from Vince. “But we’ll work it out. We’ll figure all of this out together, yeah?” 

Vince nodded, eyes bright. Howard leaned down and kissed his sharp cheekbone. “Besides, there’s no one else I want raising my daughter. You’re going to be a great parent-- _we’re_ going to be great parents, together.”

“Man and wife and alien?” asked Vince timidly. 

“Man and wife and alien,” replied Howard, capturing Vince’s lips with his own. 

Vince latched onto the concept of Cassie hearing everything like a lion to a particularly tasty wildebeest. He’d started scolding Howard and Naboo when they swore, and even threatened to set up a Swear Jar. Bollo told him to fuck off and that put an end to that idea. 

Each night, Vince would lie in Howard’s bed and tell soft-spoken stories of the jungle to Cassie. He told her about curling up to sleep in warm Jahooli’s fur, about the flock of toucans who taught him to pick fruit, about the way the bats would sing at night to each other at a pitch most humans couldn’t hear but Vince could, and they were really good lyricists, too. 

Vince’s dulcet voice and pleasant reminiscences would lull Howard to sleep, too, his hands stroking Vince’s hair or back absently until they stilled with sleep. Vince would brush a kiss against Howard’s head and go back to his bed, pleasantly warm and drowsy. 

He wished he could stay in Howard’s bed with him, but didn’t want to push things. He knew Howard needed time to acclimate to… whatever _this_ was. Vince was bursting with happiness, and he wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize that happiness now. He’d wait until Cassie was grown if he had to, if it meant he and Howard would be happy together. 

One night, after Vince had crawled back into his own bed after Howard had fallen asleep, he was awakened by the sound of Howard thrashing in his sleep. Though Vince was usually slow to wake up, his protective instincts, honed by his jungle childhood, alerted him that Howard was in danger. He shot out of bed, approaching Howard on silent feet.

Sweat plastered Howard’s curls to his forehead, his face locked into a pained grimace. Vince kneeled by his bed, pushing the damp curls off Howard’s clammy skin with a gentle touch and humming a soft lullaby. Slowly at first, Howard’s restless movements began to calm. He was still trembling when Vince began to sing. “Hushabye, don’t you cry, go to sleepy little baby...”

Howard snuffled in his sleep, a soft lilting voice rousing him from unconsciousness. He knew that voice--it had sung him to sleep almost every night for the last two weeks, as well as several other occasions over the years. Whenever Howard was too anxious to wind down, the cogs and wheels in his mind whirring ceaselessly with ever more ridiculous concerns and scenarios, he’d asked for that voice to sing him to sleep. Only then, it had been softened versions of Kiss and David Bowie. Tonight, however, Vince was singing a proper lullaby. 

“When you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horses...” 

Howard kept his eyes shut, feigning sleep. He opened them just a sliver, trying to work out where Vince was. Through slitted lids he saw Vince, kneeling at the side of Howard’s bed, head resting on folded arms. Vince’s eyes were closed as he drowsily sang to Howard’s belly. 

“Black and bays, dapples, and grays, all the pretty little horses.” 

Howard sleepily shifted, and stroked Vince’s hair. “Never heard you sing that one, Little Man,” he whispered. 

Vince looked up at him, and grinned languidly. “Forgot I knew it. I think maybe me mum sang it to me…” 

“Why’re you up?” Howard asked gently. 

“You were having a nightmare,” Vince shrugged as he stood. “Thought I’d sing a little to Cassie. Calmed you right down.”

Howard’s heart felt full fit to burst. 

Vince shuffled on his knees over to his nightstand. He fumbled through the contents of the drawer in the darkness for a few moments until Howard reached over and turned on the lamp. It didn’t take long for Vince to find what he was looking for: a cassette tape and a small portable tape player made of gaudily-colored plastic.

He walked back over to Howard’s bed, sitting cautiously on the edge, feeling a bit silly.

Howard knew with one look that Vince was apprehensive--his shoulders were hunched, as though he were making himself as small as possible. He considered drawing it out and making Vince suffer until he manned up enough to say whatever it was he was choking on, but decided to have mercy. “What is it you’ve got there, Little Man?” 

“Well,” Vince said, shuffling his socked feet against the carpet. “I was thinking about Cassie being able to hear things, yeah? And I figured, since we did up her nursery and it’s one of our favorite books and all…” Vince hesitantly handed Howard the cassette. The messy marker-scrawled writing read _Where the Wild Things Are read by Vince Noir, Rock n Roll Star._ Little drawings of wild things framed the case. 

Warmth flooded Howard, heart, body, and soul. “You made this?”

Vince mussed his hair sheepishly. “Yeah, I just thought… y’know, that way she could have it all the time. One of her dads reading her a story, whenever she wanted to hear it.” 

Howard reached for the cassette player, which slipped from Vince’s hands into his own easily. He popped the cassette into the gaudy thing, pressing play.

Vince’s voice lilted softly from the player, a little bit tinny, but still unmistakably _Vince_. “The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind and another his mother called him ‘WILD THING!’ and Max said ‘I’LL EAT YOU UP!’ so he was sent to bed without eating anything.”

As the two men (and Cassie) listened to the story they had both come to love, Vince’s hand crept into Howard’s hair, absentmindedly carding through his curls and skritching at his scalp. Howard leaned into the touch, feeling like a spoiled pet. He wanted to curl up in Vince’s lap, or curl around him--either option sounded equally appealing; he just didn’t want Vince to go back to his own bed, leaving Howard to sleep alone.

Howard arched into Vince’s touch, catching Vince’s eye and smiling softly as he scooted himself back and pulled open the covers, then nodded for Vince to climb in beside him. Vince’s face broke out into a wide, tooth-flashing grin, and without hesitation, he crawled into bed beside Howard. The baby bump took up most of the room in Howard’s narrow bed, but Vince didn’t care. Howard did his best to pull Vince in for a hug, and Vince accepted, resting his head on Howard’s pillow which smelled soapy and safe, just like Howard. As they laid and listened to the story, Vince twined his fingers with Howard’s, happily letting Howard stroke his hair and lull him to sleep. It didn’t take long before Vince’s soft, even breaths and the quiet voice emanating from the tape player made Howard’s eyes droop, and he fell into a deep and restful sleep, his earlier nightmare forgotten. 


	19. Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An impassioned makeout session goes comically wrong, Very Important Questions regarding Howard’s impending birth are answered (sort of), Howard and Vince get their first glimpse of their baby, and the Shaman are grossed out by all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thank you, as always, to LittleBooshMaid for all their help in beta-ing this behemoth.

The sun filtered through the bedroom curtains as Vince was awakened by Howard’s elbow jabbing into his shoulder. It took him a few moments to remember the events of the night before, how he’d ended up in Howard’s bed after soothing him and Cassie back to sleep after Howard’s nightmare. 

A quick reconnaissance confirmed Vince’s theory: he was definitely still in Howard’s bed. The sheets smelled different than his own--less fruity. Probably because Howard never used moisturizer. But he didn’t have to now. Pregnancy glow was a real thing, and Vince would have been more jealous of Howard’s glowing complexion and luxurious hair if it hadn’t been for the weight gain and morning sickness that accompanied it. Yawning, Vince repositioned himself to nuzzle into Howard’s broad shoulder, comforted by the familiar smell of tea, books, and soap. 

Vince had never slept with anyone, not like this. On the rare evenings he went home with someone, he would stay in bed only as long as it took to get off, no longer. In fact, he’d only ever shared a bed with Howard, when they were younger. Sometimes they would sleep side by side in the zookeeper’s hut, but they’d always had separate sleeping bags when they did. Lying next to someone else like this was… intimate. Ordinarily, such a level of intimacy would have spooked Vince, like a horse that hears a loud noise and bolts. But he had no desire to bolt. He wanted to stay in bed, warm and huddled against Howard, for as long as possible. He pressed a light kiss to Howard’s jaw, smiling softly when Howard’s eyes fluttered open.

He’d half-expected Howard to panic upon realizing that Vince had spent the night in bed with him (the man was a walking mass of neuroses, after all), but Howard’s gaze was warm and welcoming. “Mornin’,” Vince whispered, watching Howard’s eyes crinkle up with something that looked like happiness.

“Good morning,” Howard whispered back. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, like a baby,” Vince said. He didn’t notice the joke until Howard’s chest rumbled with laughter beneath Vince’s chin.

“Me too,” Howard said, once he’d managed to stop laughing enough to speak.

Vince edged closer to Howard, until his bump nudged against Vince’s stomach. He was thankful that accommodating Howard’s growing bump at least put some space between their bits--though he suspected Howard was facing a similar predicament, he didn’t want Howard to feel his morning erection and panic. They’d crossed the physical boundary with a kiss several days ago, but Vince was still cautious to let Howard lead the exploration of their physical connection at his own pace. “‘S nice, holding you like this,” Vince murmured into Howard’s neck, feeling more than seeing Howard’s answering nod.

Howard felt the same, but couldn’t quite shake the suspicion that he this was a lovely dream and nothing else. Howard didn’t share the bed with people, and he certainly didn’t wake up to fluttery little kisses. Not from humans, anyway. Mermen, aliens, whatever-the-hell Eleanor was, perhaps. But not _Vince_. Howard was pleasantly surprised to realize that he was, in fact, awake and this reverie was his new reality. Something bubbled up inside him--at first he thought it was indigestion, but he eventually recognized it for what it was: joy. 

A soft, half-smile crept across Howard’s face, without him even realizing it was happening. 

Carefully, Vince leaned up to press a tentative, closed-mouth kiss against Howard’s upturned lips, careful not to make any sudden moves that might startle Howard and jeopardize their newfound happiness. Hesitantly, he put his right hand in Howard’s hair, lightly stroking as he waited for a reaction, anything to let him know it was okay to continue. None came. Vince pulled back, and cradled Howard’s head in both hands. 

“Is this all right?” he asked softly. Howard nodded and leaned back down, closing the distance between them, eager to continue kissing. Vince, taking this as approval, began to slowly card his fingers through Howard’s hair. 

Pregnancy had been kind to Howard--especially his hair. It was growing in thick and shiny, the dull smoky brown deepened into a lustrous mahogany, the curls forming proper spirals rather than their usual frizzing wisps. Vince was envious of Howard’s hair for the first time in their lives, though admittedly, he did not know if he wanted to steal Howard’s hair or worship it. As brilliant as Howard’s curls would look on Vince’s head, ultimately Vince decided worshiping was less creepy as well as more sexy. He tangled his fingers in Howard’s curls, moaning as he combed his fingers through the thick, silky strands, his fingers dragging through Howard’s hair like water. It felt so good, Vince thought he could pet Howard’s hair for _days._

Howard thought it felt good, too, though he didn’t know how to tell Vince that. No one had ever played with his hair before. As a schoolboy, he’d watched the girls plait each other’s long shiny hair during recess, and he’d wondered what it would feel like to have someone play with his. The long-forgotten memory hit him full-force, and Howard was pleased to note that his childhood assumptions were correct: it _was_ nice to have someone play with his hair. Howard’s hair had always been fine and messy, a kind of shambles atop his head that he mostly ignored. But the way Vince was stroking it, running his fingers through it, gently skritching his scalp… it made him feel cared for and adored. His innocent schoolboy daydreams, however, had not prepared him for the intimacy of this kind of touch, nor the desire that followed in its wake.

Howard lay still and silent, afraid to make a sound, while Vince carded his fingers through Howard’s hair. He nuzzled Howard’s neck and moaned, making the noises Howard wished he could. He couldn’t quite let go of that tight knot between his shoulders, the one that sometimes blocked his throat, keeping his pleasure locked deep down inside, not yet. Maybe one day he’d be able to let go of the notion that northern men were too manly to let their partners know they’d found pleasure until the ultimate moment, and even then, only in a quiet, reserved, masculine way. But not today. Today he simply enjoyed the sensation of Vince’s fingers massaging his scalp, gently tugging his hair, combing through his locks with dextrous fingers. It felt so good to have Vince’s hands in his hair... Unbidden, a moan made its way past the knot in Howard’s throat.

The change in Vince was immediate. He had been longing to make Howard _scream,_ but Howard, always so stodgy and reserved and repressed, had never before made so much as a peep during their previous kisses, no matter how intense. Vince had tried to encourage him, tried to be more vocal than usual to let Howard know that it was okay to let go and say something or breathe or gasp or sigh or _anything._ Hearing Howard finally, finally give himself over to his pleasure _did_ something to Vince, made the soft nuzzling at Howard’s neck became an open-mouthed, possessive sucking thing.

Encouraged by Vince’s response, Howard moaned again. Vince’s hand slid from his scalp, down his neck, to grasp at Howard’s belly; his mouth trailed down Howard’s neck, each press of his lips growing ever more desperate. Remembering how good it felt to have Vince’s hand in his hair, Howard slipped an exploratory hand to the nape of Vince’s neck, softly rubbing the ends of Vince’s hair between his fingers. Another moan spilled from Vince’s lips onto Howard’s skin. Emboldened, Howard teased his fingers up Vince’s neck. He could feel the knots of Vince’s vertebrae beneath the skin; Howard followed Vince’s spine with his fingertips as though decoding a secret message written in Braille. Finally, his fingers rested at Vince’s hairline.

Howard tugged a lock of hair at the nape of Vince’s neck, and Vince made another one of those maddening sounds. It was encouragement enough for Howard to attempt to slide his whole hand into Vince’s hair--but he hadn’t been prepared for the knotty tangle of the back-combed roots that gave Vince’s coiffure its signature volume. His fingers caught on a particularly gnarly snarl, and Vince broke the bruising kiss he’d been sucking onto Howard’s collarbone to yelp--definitely _not_ a sexy sound, at all.

All at once, the old shame blossomed in Howard’s belly. He wanted to run, to hide, to pretend that none of this had ever happened. But his hand was still stuck in Vince’s hair, frozen in place by Root Boost, Goth Juice, and backcombing, and as badly as Howard wanted to escape, he knew he’d have to free himself from Vince’s barnet first. The last thing Howard wanted to do was upset Vince by running away from the kiss with a handful of Vince’s hair. Vince’s hair meant a lot to him, and Vince meant a lot to Howard, and so Howard endured, shame-faced, as Vince worked to free Howard’s hand from his tangled hair.

“Sorry,” Howard squeaked for the dozenth time. 

“S’alright, Howard,” Vince said, armed with a comb and detangling spray as he worked to gently pry Howard’s fingers from his hair. “‘Spose that were a little intimate and all.” He smiled sheepishly. “Might be better to wait til after the third date or summat before you go sticking your hands in my barnet.” 

Howard flushed. When Vince chuckled, Howard almost gave in to the impulse to yank himself free and stomp off while muttering something about how he, Howard Moon, had endured far too many humiliations at the hands of Vince Noir, but the soft smile on Vince’s face and the dreamy look in his eyes made Howard realize something--Vince was not laughing at him, he was laughing at the situation they’d managed to get themselves into. The anxious thing inside Howard relaxed, and he found himself laughing alongside Vince, perhaps even teasing him back a bit.

“This would never have happened if you weren’t as vain as a peacock,” Howard said, a small smile teasing his lips.

“Never knew you liked my hair so much,” Vince teased back. “Could have saved you some of my off-cuts. Would have saved you from the trouble of trying to run off with a handful of it.”

“Well,” Howard said, gesturing at the unkempt, curly mop on his head with his free hand, “with hair like mine, could you blame me?”

Suddenly serious, Vince paused his detangling. “I like your hair, Howard,” he admitted in a quiet voice.

Howard balked. He opened his mouth to protest--Vince had always teased him about his hairstyle, or lack thereof, insisting Howard’s hair was nothing more than brown smoke, or that it was getting too long and making him look like a racist tramp--but Vince interrupted him before he could even begin to speak. “It’s curly and soft and it’s that kind of brown that gets red highlights when it catches the sun... it suits you.”

From Vince, such words were practically a sonnet: he did not compliment others on their hair lightly. Howard recognized the compliment for what it was (practically a declaration of love) and was so overcome with emotion that he couldn’t help but give Vince another kiss.

“Oi, none of that!” Vince scolded, playfully elbowing Howard’s belly. “You start kissing me now and we’ll _never_ be ready in time for your appointment with Naboo.”

A glance at the clock revealed that they had less than an hour before Naboo showed up for Howard’s scheduled prenatal appointment. Howard sulked, but kept his lips to himself as Vince continued his task of combing Howard’s hand out of his hair. It took nearly twenty minutes, three combs, and half a bottle of detangler, but the two men managed to disentangle themselves with just enough time to make themselves presentable before Naboo knocked on their door.

“I hope you ballbags aren’t in there being disgusting,” Naboo groused on the other side of the bedroom door. “I’m a busy man, you know. Drugs don’t smoke themselves.”

“Open it and see for yourself!” Vince called.

Naboo’s answering shudder on the was audible even through the heavy wooden door. “No way, I’m not taking that chance! Open it yourselves!”

Vince reluctantly got to his feet to open the door and let Naboo in. “See?” he said. “We’re fully clothed and everything.”

Bollo, faithfully following his shaman into the bedroom, took a deep sniff of the air. “Smell like ballbag in here.” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Vince said. “That’s just Howard.”

Howard would have glared at Vince, but he was distracted by the fact that the entire Shaman Council was currently filing into the room, so he glared at them instead. “Again, I have to ask, is it really necessary for all of you to be here for my appointments?” 

“Aww, is that any way to treat your triage team?” Kirk asked, sounding strangely disappointed to learn that Howard was less than happy to see him. His childlike face fell, and Howard cursed his pregnancy hormones for tricking him into feeling bad for hurting Kirk’s feelings, though his rational mind was quick to remind him that Kirk was not a child but an ancient being capable of committing terrible perversions.

“After everything we’ve done for you, you still can’t greet us properly, can you?” Saboo sighed. Somehow even his put-upon sigh sounded sarcastic.

“Look,” Naboo said, “I hate these guys too. Possibly even more than you.” He narrowed his eyes at his fellow shaman, who grimaced back at him. “But delivering a male pregnancy is an arcane and complicated process. I’m going to need the backup.” 

“Hear that, sunshine?” Tony Harrison smirked, sounding well chuffed. “You need us.”

Howard was feeling less confident in his medical team by the minute. “How is the baby going to come out anyway?” he muttered.

“Yeah!” Vince agreed. “You never said.”

Naboo rolled his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Well, no,” Vince admitted. 

“Especially considering that I lack the necessary, er, equipment, I think not, sir,” Howard opined.

Naboo gave both his human flatmates a withering look. When he spoke, he had only one word to say: “Magic.”

Vince and Howard looked at him expectantly. “That’s _it?”_ Vince asked.

“What kind of magic?” Howard wanted to know, his mind racing. “Will there be another ritual, or chanting? Will there be fire involved? Is that _safe_ for the baby?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Naboo said, dismissing Howard’s questions with a sniff. “You’ll be off your tits for most of it. You get the really, really good drugs for childbirth.”

“Drugs?” Howard panicked.

Vince put his hand over Howard’s to calm him down. “Even Earth doctors give pregnant women drugs when they’re giving birth, Howard. I think you and Cassie will both be fine.”

“Naboo’s drugs are even better than the stuff they give you in hospital,” Kirk added. “You should try his morphine sometime.”

Howard glared at the offending child-shaman. “No, thank you,” he said primly. “What if I want a natural birth?”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Naboo warned.

“Why not?” Howard’s pregnancy books had led him to believe it was a perfectly reasonable thing to ask. A man had to know his birthing options to prepare a proper birthing plan, after all.

“Well, first of all, there’s nothing natural about being a pregnant man. And the birthing process is even _more_ unnatural than that.” He narrowed his eyes at Howard meaningfully. “You definitely do _not_ want to be awake for this. Trust me, I’m a shaman.”

And because Howard trusted Earth doctors to deliver his half-alien baby even less than he trusted Naboo, he acquiesced. “Fine. I’ll take the drugs.”

There was a collective cheer from the Shaman. “Aww, knew you had it in you!” cried Tony Harrison. “All that boring-stodgy-geography-teacher stuff was just an act, a cover!” 

“It’s not, though,” mumbled Howard. “And I don’t look like a geography teacher.” 

“You do, though,” Vince said, earning a glare from Howard. “A... sexy geography teacher?” he squeaked. “You know, like the kind that I would have had a crush on in high school. It’s probably cos of the moustache--”

“Somehow, that’s even worse,” Howard sighed. “Maybe I should shave my moustache... I’d probably look less like a pedo...”

“No way!” Vince protested, looking appalled. “You can’t get rid of the moustache! That’s your whole look! Without it, you’d have no look at all!” Not having _any_ look was the worst thing Vince could conceive of. He felt about to faint, and they hadn’t even begun the exam yet.

“Moustache or no moustache, I can’t _wait_ to see what this tosser does with copious amounts of drugs in his system,” Saboo commented.

“I’ve seen Howard drunk before,” quipped Vince, distracted from his impassioned defense of Howard’s facial hair. “He does a lot of weird filthy-talk, only it’s not really filthy so much as strange. Lots of wheelbarrows.” 

“Is that a human sex thing?” Naboo wondered aloud. “Quick, Bollo, check the betting pool. Are there any wheelbarrow-centric sex acts on there?”

The entire Shaman Council laughed. “He’ll _need_ a wheelbarrow by the time we’re done with him,” snarked Saboo. 

Howard was not amused. “Yes, this is all well and good, but you still haven’t answered my question.” Howard tried to raise his voice above the snickers of the Shaman. “How is the baby going to come _out?”_

“I _told_ you,” Naboo sniped. “Magic.” No amount of interrogation could compel him to elaborate, and considering that there were no human medical professionals Howard could consult for more information without risking being committed to a facility for the mentally unwell or losing Cassie to the inquiries of medical research, Howard grudgingly decided to stop asking. 

“Now that that’s settled, let’s move on to the exam portion of this gathering. You know, literally the _entire_ reason we’re all here,” Naboo grumbled. Howard grudgingly lay down on his bed, unbuttoning his shirt to expose his stomach as Vince and the entire Shaman Council watched. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to stifle the traumatic memories of his abduction that the proceedings evoked.

As if sensing Howard’s discomfort, Vince wrapped his fingers around Howard’s, squeezing and smiling and encouraging smile.

“Isn’t that nice,” Saboo scoffed, gazing at Vince and Howard’s intertwined hands. “The world’s longest case of pining has finally been resolved, will wonders never cease,” he deadpanned, words full of both venom and detachment. 

“Quiet!” Naboo shouted. “I know you two are flagrant exhibitionists judging by the number of times I’ve stumbled upon you in blatant congress, but try not to get too excited. I’m trying to do a very delicate magical medical procedure here!” he snarled at Vince and Howard. The two men blushed, both wearing an expression that was equal parts chagrined and proud.

Naboo waved his hands over Howard’s bare stomach, muttering an incantation beneath his breath. 

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, suddenly, a light shone between Naboo’s hands. Its origin was indecipherable, but it projected straight up from Howard’s stomach to the plain white ceiling of the cramped bedroom. Naboo stared straight into the light (which Vince thought was a bad idea, since he’d been told looking at the sun would blind him and this light was very bright). The tiny shaman examined the illuminated space between his hands, then cast his gaze to the ceiling. 

Projected onto the bedroom ceiling was something that looked like an ultrasound scan. Howard’s jaw dropped, and he felt, for an instant, utter terror seeing what looked like a vaguely human-shaped lump. Spotting a recognizable foot, he counted ten toes, and the terror receded into absolute joy and affection. _This is Cassie!_ he realized. The longer Howard looked, the more familiar the projection became. A head. Hands. Fingers. Toes. The smallest ear Howard had ever seen. Even her tiny eyes, clearly inherited from Howard, were distinguishable, which saddened Howard momentarily. Unbidden, the thought _I’d been hoping she would get Vince’s eyes_ flitted through his mind before he remembered that Vince had nothing to do with Cassie’s conception. The emotion was too much--tears pricked his eyes. He reached for Vince’s hand, but both Vince’s hands were occupied by his head, which he held as he sobbed ecstatically. 

“This is a disgusting, pathetic display,” spat Saboo. “Pull yourself together!” 

Vince sniffled. “Shut up, you berk, that’s _my daughter!_ I’m only seein’ her for the first time, ain’t I? Oh, _Howard!”_ Vince stood and placed a kiss on Howard’s forehead before trying reach over Naboo to hug his partner. “Look at our little girl, Howard.” 

Howard was too overwhelmed to do anything other than hold onto Vince and stare at the image projected onto the ceiling. He felt as though he would literally explode with happiness if he tried to speak or move. 

“Aww, you have a baby up inside ya!” exclaimed Tony Harrison, grinning widely. 

There was a noticeable _sniff_ from the corner of the room, where Dennis surreptitiously produced a handkerchief from his voluminous sleeves. “Allergies,” he muttered. 

Even Saboo, at a rare loss for words, looked awestruck. 

“She’s doing fine,” lisped Naboo matter-of-factly, completely unaffected by the emotional scene playing out before him. “She weighs about one and a half kilograms, perfectly normal. She’s just under 35 centimeters long. A little small, but it’s probably her Uranian DNA.” Vince had started crying again, and was trying to measure out with his hands how long 35 centimeters was. 

Naboo rolled his eyes. “Howard, over the next few weeks she’ll keep growing, and you might notice her kicks and movements feel different. That’s normal, don’t panic. She’ll also start going more head-down to prepare for birth, which is also normal. I am imploring you, Howard: do not panic.” 

Vince, however, panicked. “Preparing for birth?! She’s not going to like, come out of Howard _down there_ is she? Like kidney stones? Or that movie _Alien_?”

“No, I told you,” said Naboo, with an air of the utmost longsuffering. “This is a _magical_ birth. Stop worrying. She’s doing everything she should be doing and Howard will have the good drugs--it’ll be perfectly painless.” 

“Howard’s quite lucky,” Tony Harrison piped in, turning to Vince. “Women on my home-world sometimes labor for days without any assistance. And the way your so-called ‘Earth doctors,’” emphasized with tentacle air quotes, “treat labor and delivery is purely barbaric.” He patted Vince with a tentacle, a gesture that Vince assumed was supposed to be comforting despite the fact that touching Tony Harrison gave him the heebie-jeebies. “Don’t worry, lad. Your wife’ll get the best care in the known multiverse,” he finished with a wink. “Plus, if there’s any left over, you can have a celebration to remember.”

“Or never remember, more likely,” groused Saboo. 

The examination concluded with Naboo promising to get a picture of the scan for Vince and Howard, more grumbling remarks from Saboo, and Dennis blowing his nose so loudly Naboo worried the neighbors might complain. Thus the prenatal appointment concluded, the Shaman slunk out of the small bedroom, leaving Vince and Howard to occupy themselves for the time being.

“How long will they stay in there?” asked Kirk, his ear pressed against the door as he strained to hear something he could letch about later. 

“Bollo not want to know,” Bollo answered. 

“You don’t think they’ll--” Dennis began.

“Shut up,” commanded Naboo. “If I’m going to have to think about what those two idiots get up to together, I need to be _way_ more stoned. Birth magic really kills my high, but luckily, I picked up a new strain of herb this morning. Let’s go upstairs.” With that, he turned and made his way up the steps as fast as his short legs would carry him, followed closely by his ever-faithful familiar.

“Bollo really want try that Girl Scout Cookie weed,” Bollo said happily as he traipsed upstairs.

At the mention of weed, The Shaman hustled up the stairs. They made quite a ruckus over the next few hours, conducting their Shaman shenanigans beneath a haze of marijuana smoke, but downstairs Vince and Howard didn’t notice, wrapped up as they were in a cocoon of sheer bliss after having seen their daughter for the first time.


	20. Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince's attempts to wine and dine Howard don't go to plan, but the alternative is much, much better.

Vince stood carefully watching the pasta on the stove, making sure it didn’t bubble over. He wasn’t a great cook, but he was trying to learn. He figured it was his paternal instinct kicking in; for some reason, Vince loved the idea of being Howard’s little housewife. He hummed and stirred the noodles carefully, waiting for the water to boil without spilling over. He could sense Howard move into the kitchen--like a moon in orbit around a planet, Vince was always aware of Howard’s whereabouts. Couple that with the fact that Howard wasn’t sneaky at the best of times, but this far along it was impossible for him to be anything other than a one-man parade when he moved about the flat.

Instead of the usual bumping into chairs and sighing, however, Howard approached Vince from behind quietly, snaking his arms around the smaller man’s waist. Howard leaned forward, inhaling deeply at the nape of Vince’s neck. It sent chills up and down Vince’s spine down into his fingers. All thoughts of overflowing pots forgotten, he closed his eyes as Howard began to press a slow series of kisses down Vince’s neck.

Like this, the disparity in height between the two men was more obvious than ever. Vince had always adored the height difference between himself and Howard. Howard always complained about his size, especially when they were younger, but Vince had always thought it was well sexy. He used to imagine kissing Howard right where his mouth fell, just below the collarbone, but this went both ways: Howard could tower over him, safe and strong, and plant kisses all up and down Vince’s face and hair and throat.

Vince moaned softly as Howard’s teeth gently tugged his earlobe. Howard moved his mouth lower, and latching on to the pulse point hammering beneath Vince’s paper-thin skin, he sucked. Vince laid his head back on Howard’s shoulder and groaned, a deep sound wrenched from inside him at the sheer burning _pleasure_ of Howard’s mouth biting, teasing, tasting, _sucking_ right there. “Fuck,” he moaned, voice gravelly. He could feel Howard’s lips curve into a smile against his throat, his moustache adding another layer of sensation.

Unable to press himself against the counter, Vince palmed himself through his trousers, surprised to realize how hard he’d gotten in so short a time.

The kissing was amazing--it was better than anything Vince had imagined, and he’d done a _lot_ of imagining over the last… lifetime. He wouldn’t trade this new status quo for anything, except, perhaps, a status quo where one or the other or both of them actually got off.

The constant touching--brushing against each other in the flat, fingers twining together casually, light stroking of each other’s hair, a tickling rub on the shoulders--and the kissing. Oh, the kissing. It all left Vince so keyed up he felt like he was crawling in his skin, like a caterpillar itching to burst out of its chrysalis. He couldn’t even take the issue into his own hands, so to speak, not without a certain level of guilt. He wanted to save himself now for Howard, wanted to do everything with Howard for the first time, because for many things, it was Howard’s first time. Vince might have been more experienced, but emotionally, nothing before _this_ had meant anything. He was the emotional virgin of the pair, and so he went to bed painfully hard every night willing himself to think of unsexy things all while knowing Howard was in the bed next to his.

Guilt, however, didn’t keep Vince from finding his pleasure occasionally. He was a man with biological needs, for chrissakes.

None of that mattered in moments like these, though. Moments where Howard would drive him absolutely insane, playing him like a guitar with his skillful fingers and singing him like a crimp with his delicious lips. Release by yourself was like drinking a cup of milk for a meal. It worked, Vince supposed, but it almost didn’t count.

Vince wrenched his eyes open and moved away from Howard. “Stop that, you slag, the pasta’ll burn.”

“Hang the pasta,” said Howard roughly as he spun Vince around for a kiss. “I’m hungry for _you_.”

At any other time, Vince would have been proud of Howard for the suggestive joke, but he was too busy being kissed senseless to think about that now. Perhaps Howard hadn’t been joking--he was kissing Vince hungrily, like a starving man who’d been invited to a banquet, as if he couldn’t get enough of Vince’s taste. He feasted on the flavor of Vince’s lips, swiped a tongue over the skin of Vince’s neck, nibbled the shell of Vince’s ear, all with a desperation that made Vince’s skin prickle and his cock throb. He was leaking into his pants, the cotton of his underwear clinging damply to the tip of his prick, and he stole another squeeze of his cock, hoping to calm himself enough to keep from rutting against Howard, startling him and breaking the moment.

Howard grinned into Vince’s neck as he felt the man beneath him moan. In just a few short weeks, he’d gone from being a never-been-kissed almost-virgin, completely clueless about the finer points of using his lips and tongue and teeth to bring his partner pleasure, to a man with growing confidence in his own sexuality. Lately, he and Vince spent every spare moment snogging, and Howard had fit a lifetime’s worth of practice into just a few short weeks.

As Howard grew more confident about kissing, a strange thing happened--he began to relish his ability to make Vince lose control. And the more Vince lost control, the more _in_ control Howard felt. It was as if Howard were sucking all the carefully-cultivated cool right out of him.

Feeling a bit daring, Howard scraped his teeth into the sensitive skin just behind Vince’s ear, a spot that he’d learned could turn Vince into a whimpering, squirming mess with the right amount of pressure. Just as he’d expected, Vince went boneless, whining and writhing as Howard followed the rough scrape of teeth with a soft swipe of his tongue. When he closed his mouth around the spit-slick skin and _sucked_ , Vince clutched desperately at Howard’s head, as if anchoring him in place.

Just then, the pasta boiled over, the water landing on the surface of the hot stove with a hiss that shocked the two men apart. Vince was red-faced and panting, the skintight Spandex of his jumpsuit doing nothing to conceal his erection. Howard couldn’t look away from the bulge between Vince’s legs, his own cock beginning to swell as he stared.

Vince excused himself and turned down the gas, then limped over to the sink to drain the pasta. He returned the noodles to the pot, then added the sauce and a bit of pasta water and oil, still looking painfully aroused in his tight catsuit as he set the finished dish to simmer.

Up until now, Howard had been more intimidated than anything by Vince’s cock. Of course he desired Vince’s prick, but his own inexperience made him balk and flinch away when Vince got carried away and tried to rub or press against him. But this time was different--Howard ached to feel every inch of Vince beside him, or even _inside_ him. The thought made a shiver of anticipation creep down his spine and settle between his legs, making his cock throb with want.

Vince reached for the two bowls on the counter. Just as he was about to ladle the pasta into them, Howard turned off the gas and covered the pot with a lid. Vince looked at him questioningly, fingers tapping against the bowl in his hand in a nervous staccato.

“I _said_ ,” Howard growled, “I’m not hungry for _dinner_.”

Vince almost dropped the bowl as he realized what Howard was insinuating.

Howard grabbed the bowl from Vince’s hand roughly, tossing it onto the counter carelessly as he wrapped a large hand around Vince’s skinny wrist. He dragged Vince to the couch where he laid down, then pulled Vince on top of him.

Vince was biting his lip, looking down at Howard hesitantly. His erection was pressed against the underside of Howard’s belly, thick and hot, hotter than Howard had expected. As soon as Vince noticed the rather intimate contact, he made to pull away, but Howard grabbed him by the hips, anchoring Vince in place as he arched his back and pushed his belly against Vince’s prick. Vince responded with a long, low moan that made Howard’s cock jump and pulse in his pants. Then Vince draped his weight over Howard’s body and captured Howard’s mouth in a deep and desperate kiss, somehow murmuring words of filth and praise against Howard’s lips without ever really breaking the kiss.

Howard had expected Vince to be... vocal. Lord knows, he’d heard Vince get off with other people often enough in their years of cohabitation. Even so, Howard hadn’t realized that it would be completely different when he was the one drawing those noises from Vince. And there were so _many_ noises. The noise Vince made when Howard dragged his short nails across Vince’s scalp, for example. The noise Vince made when Howard nibbled his bottom lip. The noise Vince made when Howard dared to sneak his hands up under Vince’s shirt and run his large hands over Vince’s smooth back. The noises Vince made when he caressed Howard’s swollen belly and rutted his hard length against Howard’s thigh at the same time. Howard cataloged each of these noises and the accompanying action for future use and research.

They were sprawled on the sofa, Vince resting his knees on either side of Howard’s thighs, one hand tangled in Howard’s beautiful pregnancy curls and the other kneading his tit. “Fuck, Howard,” he gasped into Howard’s mouth. “Feels so fuckin’ good, you’re so sexy.” Howard preened under the praise, feeling the blood rush straight to his cock. He loved being praised, loved that Vince meant it, too. A rush of pure desire overtook him and he sighed, low and deep in his throat, at Vince’s words.

Vince was too excited to handle Howard making noises. He was ready to come right there just from hearing it. Hearing that low almost-whine… Vince’s head went light. “Oh, _fuck_ , Howard--”

Emboldened by Vince’s obvious appreciation, Howard made another soft whining sound. He couldn’t help the smirk that stretched his lips when Vince made a noise Howard could only describe as a keen, high-pitched and wailing. Vince rucked Howard’s shirt up to expose his bump, his erection feeling even hotter against the bare skin of Howard’s stomach.

One of Vince’s thighs insinuated itself between Howard’s legs, and on instinct, Howard closed his thighs together. The motion brought Vince’s spandex-clad thigh into contact with Howard’s prick, and Howard couldn’t remember ever being so hard in his life. He bucked his hips, desperate for more.

“Fuck, Howard, I can _feel_ you,” Vince breathed, his breath hot against Howard’s ear. Howard shivered and moaned, his earlier reticence to allow Vince to hear his pleasure lost in the moment. He could think of nothing more important than letting Vince know how good he felt, how much Howard wanted him at that moment. He squeezed his thighs again, rutting into Vince’s leg as Vince rutted into his belly.

Howard was drunk on the feel of him, the long, lean line of Vince’s body against his own taller, fuller frame, the hot pulse of Vince’s cock where it pressed into his rounded stomach. He insinuated a hand between Vince’s legs, impressed with his own daring as he cradled Vince’s prick in his palm, wondering at the shape and the heat of it, at once familiar and strange. It was not altogether unfamiliar, but wholly unlike touching himself... Howard squeezed experimentally, Vince’s cock jumping in his hand in response, a small wet spot forming on the tight bright Spandex.

Suddenly, Vince’s hips were thrusting into Howard’s fist, his hands were scrabbling at Howard’s clothing, yanking the buttons out of their holes to expose Howard’s torso. “Fuck, Howard, let me see you,” Vince gasped between moans as Howard’s skin was exposed. Howard was too turned on to remember to be shy about his large round belly, his burgeoning breasts, the vivid red stretch marks crisscrossing both.

Vince didn’t seem to mind, either, not if his reaction to seeing Howard’s naked skin was anything to judge by. “You’re sexier than I _imagined_ ,” he breathed, staring at Howard with something like wonder. Caught by surprise from the praise, no, the utter _worship_ in Vince’s voice, Howard’s whole body went slack, including the hand which was holding Vince by the penis.

Vince wasted no time sliding his damp, Spandex-clad erection against Howard’s bare belly. He braced his weight on his hands, pressed into the couch cushions on either side of Howard’s head, then began to rock his hips. As he thrust, his thigh rubbed against the underside of Howard’s hard cock, which felt impossibly sensitive even through the layers of his clothing.

They’d kissed and held each other before, sure, but Howard had never felt anything like this--none of his previous encounters even came close. He was so overcome by the feel of Vince’s body moving against his own, the smell and taste and shape of him, that Howard could do little else than lie back and let Vince _have_ him. Torn between wanting to close his eyes so he could concentrate on the pure physical sensation and keeping them open in order to commit every image to memory, Howard blinked rapidly, his pleasure escaping in little moans and whines that he could not stifle as Vince responded with a steady stream of nonsense-words, filth and praise and _fuck_.

The pleasure built as the two men rutted together, kissing desperately. Howard’s cock throbbed and leaked into his boxers; the metal zip of his trousers was almost uncomfortable against his sensitive prick, but he could not stop pushing himself against Vince’s thigh. His bollocks ached, drawing tight against his body, begging for release even as Howard held himself back.

Suddenly, Vince shuddered above him, biting down on Howard’s shoulder so hard it hurt. Howard felt a warm, wet rush on his skin as Vince’s prick pulsed against his stomach. It took him a moment to realize what had happened--Vince had gotten off, _gotten off_ because of _Howard_ \--and the realization pushed him over the edge too, his cock spurting into his pants, the warm, sticky fluid leaking down his shaft and into his pubic hair.

Vince held him close, stroking Howard’s hair as he trembled through his orgasm. “I ain’t come in my pants since I was a teenager... just couldn’t _help_ myself, Howard, you’re so _hot_...” He nuzzled Howard’s neck, sprinkling kisses to the column of his throat as he continued babbling. “And you’re even hotter when you come, fuck, I ain’t never seen anything hotter... made me want to come again, just watching you...”

Howard shut him up with another kiss, sucking whatever Vince had meant to say next right off of his tongue. They exchanged hot, open-mouthed kisses which slowed into languid, soft nibbles as they came down from orgasm. Howard felt boneless, sleepy, absolutely content and yet, some small part of him deep inside itched for _more_.

Howard had never before comprehended the fuss other people made over sex, and thought people spent an awful lot of time, energy, and money devoted to it. That was _before_ , before he’d got off with Vince--Howard understood it now. Seeing Vince, eyes shut, head thrown back, the long, delectable column of his throat exposed as he let go, his release hot and wet and pulsing against Howard… Howard understood. And while it had felt so, so _good_ to release literal years of tension, months of unheeded pregnancy hormones, he couldn’t help but want more. Wanted Vince closer, even if that meant wanting him _inside_.

Vince was resting his head on Howard’s chest, stroking his belly absently as the sweat cooled. _That_ had been the single most erotic event of his life, and he’d gotten off with guys and girls in bathrooms at clubs and parties for years, but he’d never felt so satisfied, so _sated_ , after sex before. Perhaps everything before tonight had been the appetizer before the main course. As soon as Vince thought the words “main course” a low rumble came from Howard’s stomach, as though it was psychically aware that Vince was thinking of food. Vince sat up, brushing a stray curl from Howard’s forehead. “Hungry?”

Howard looked bashful, as though being hungry was something to be ashamed of. _Poor Howard,_ thought Vince, _so at war with his own body. Need to fix that._ “Is sex supposed to make you hungry?” asked Howard.

Vince grinned wolfishly. “If you’re doing it right,” he replied cheekily.

“I _am_ eating for two,” Howard reminded him.

Vince stood, straightening his jumpsuit as best he could. “We should get cleaned up a bit, then have dinner. I made pasta and all,” he said, nodding towards the counter. He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Howard’s lips. “See you in a minute.” Vince practically floated to the bathroom where he stripped off his clothes, cleaned off with a warm, wet flannel, and changed into his silk floral kimono (and nothing else) for the night.

He emerged to find Howard still draped on the couch, staring at the ceiling with a vaguely creepy smile about his face, lost in post-coital bliss. Vince grabbed his hands and helped him up, kissing him again as he did so. “Go get cleaned up and change into something more comfortable, I’ll get dinner ready.”

Howard ruffled Vince’s hair affectionately, and kissed him again. As the two stood making out, Naboo and Bollo stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen, reeking to high heaven of marijuana. Naboo wandered over to the stove, where Vince had set the pasta to reheat over a low flame. He opened the lid of the pot, exclaiming stonedly, “Oh snap, Bollo, look! Munchies.”

Bollo made a pleased growl and grabbed the pot off the hob while Naboo nicked some silverware and a bottle of wine from the cupboard. And before either man could protest, the shaman and his familiar had vanished back up the stairs in a fit of giggles, leaving behind an empty countertop and the lingering pungent smell of very-high quality cannabis.

Howard stared, open-mouthed, lips forming around words that never came while he pointed at the empty space where the pasta had been only moments earlier.

Vince raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. “I’m not fighting Bollo for our dinner,” he said. “He’s way stronger’n both of us. Let’s find something else to eat, yeah?” Howard looked absolutely crestfallen. Vince knew people sometimes became irritable when they were hungry, but he wondered if there was a word for hunger-sadness, because Howard was embodying it _perfectly_.

Vince rooted around in the cupboards until he emerged with marshmallows, Haribo gummy bears, and a jar of Nutella. He raised his eyebrows suggestively at Howard. “You _did_ say you weren’t hungry for pasta, Howard.”

An electric thrill rushed through Howard. “I--I can’t just have sweets for supper,” he said lamely.

Vince shot Howard the look that had gotten him hundreds of free drinks in clubs. “Why not? You’ve been eating great for seven months. One cheat night’s not gonna ruin everything. Come on, Howard.” He slowly unscrewed the lid of Nutella, dipped a finger in, and made a show of licking his finger clean, complete with moaning and “fuck me” eyes. He stalked past Howard, wriggling his hips as he sashayed by. “You coming?” he turned and asked.

Howard was gazing at him with a look Vince hadn’t seen since the jungle times, when the hunters would stalk their prey through the thick foliage. “I hope so,” Howard growled, and chased Vince into the bedroom, all thoughts of pasta and marinara sauce utterly forgotten.


	21. Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys’ relationship progresses apace. They engage in irredeemable smut from beginning to end. But wait! Will doing the dirty harm little baby Cassie? Vince and Howard decide to ask Naboo for some sex advice before crossing the final physical boundary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to ALittleBooshMaid. Without her tireless beta work, this would be so much worse.
> 
> Well, we've been making you wait long enough! This chapter is pretty much all smut, start to finish. We've been teasing you all a long time, but it's OK, you can get off now...

Howard looked distastefully at the mess before him. He stood, hands on hips, back aching from the weight of carrying Cassie, vaguely aware that his mother used to stand that way when she was displeased. He dropped his arms, still eyeing the disaster in front of him. 

Last night, crazed with lust, he and Vince had taken it upon themselves to push their twin-sized beds together, resulting in a horrid hybrid bed with a very uncomfortable trench in the center. Still, it was easier for two grown men to explore the erotic possibilities of Nutella and gummy bears in a Frankenbed than it would’ve been in a twin. 

Howard blushed, remembering the activities of the previous night. It hadn’t seemed so bad, then, but today in the light of day, faced with the messy consequences, he felt dirty in every sense of the word. Sure, sweets were delicious, and they stuck to the skin in the most mesmerizing way, but they were sticky and messy. Howard disliked mess. 

Vince entered the room, fresh from the bathroom, his hair still damp and smelling of fruit cocktail. His eyes widened at the sight of the Frankenbed. “Christy,” he said. 

In their haste, they hadn’t bothered to tidy around the furniture moving, resulting in a horrible display of the things lurking beneath their beds (crumpled jazz magazines, a hat, glittery fabrics, shoes, makeup, and hair crimpers, respectively). Since they had no sheets in a size that properly fitted Frankenbed, they’d thrown down whatever sheets they could find and covered up with whatever was left over. All of it was smeared with Nutella which looked incredibly unappetizing out of the jar (or off of skin). 

Vince sighed, then rubbed his hands together. “Guess we need to take care of that,” he said, grabbing the dirty sheets. “Come on Howard, give us a hand.” 

Howard did as he was told. Together, they silently bunched the bedding and started a load of wash. When they returned to the bedroom, Vince started picking up the junk from under the beds, putting his grooming supplies back where they belonged. He helped Howard gather his things, too. 

“We should probably move the bed up against one of our walls,” Vince said. “Better than having it in the center taking up the whole room.” 

“You… you don’t think we should, you know… separate them again?” Howard asked, nervously. He wasn’t sure why he was nervous. He didn’t want to go back to sleeping alone, and the bigger bed, despite the large divot, was much easier for him to position himself in comfortably. 

“Oh,” said Vince, a crease forming between his brows as he cast his eyes down. “Well. I just thought…” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” said Howard. 

“No, s’alright,” said Vince. “We don’t have to. Probably better to sleep in our own beds and all, since--”

He was silenced by Howard’s mouth clasping over his, with a kiss that managed both passion and possession, but remained tender. Vince felt his knees weaken. He’d always imagined people in long-term monogamous relationships must get bored, but he understood now. He could kiss Howard every day for the rest of his life and not tire of it. 

“I like sharing the bed,” Howard said softly, breaking apart. 

Vince sighed in relief. “Me too,” he replied. They smiled at each other, the silent awkwardness of before dissolved as they helped each other reposition the Frankenbed to a more “feng shui spot” (Vince’s words, not Howard’s). Vince resolved to go buy larger sheets, and maybe shop around for a proper bed, too. 

“You could look for a bed while you finish buying the things for Cassie,” said Howard. “At the rate we’re going, we’ll burn through the Uranus money before she even starts school,” he added, a note of pessimism coloring his words. 

“Hey Howard, I was thinking,” said Vince, his voice laden with the promise of something Howard was sure to hate. 

Howard knew what was coming. He’d been expecting it for a long time and was amazed that it hadn’t come up sooner. “Before you ask, no, I don’t want a baby shower.”

“But Howard, baby showers are genius! You invite all your friends to this big huge party--”

“You’re my only friend, Vince!” Howard protested. Vince gave him a skeptical look, and Howard cleared his throat. “Well, you and Lester Corncrake,” he amended. 

“What about the Shaman Council?” Vince asked, twirling a lock of hair around his finger innocently.

“Every time the Shaman Council goes to a party, it degenerates into a drunken, drug-fueled orgy. Do you really think that’s appropriate for a _baby shower?”_ Howard asked.

Vince shrugged. “The _whole point_ of a baby shower is to invite everyone you know, so they can buy stuff for the baby. _Expensive_ stuff too, like a crib, or a stroller...”

Howard’s interest was piqued. Though Saboo and Tony Harrison were hard at work on his paternity suit against the Uranians, legal matters could not be rushed. He knew money would be forthcoming but the truth was, as the settlement tied up in a trust for the foreseeable future, Howard’s budget for baby supplies was currently stretched thin, and he had yet to purchase several important, yet expensive, necessities, such as the aforementioned stroller and cot. He _had_ had his eye on a nice cot, one that could be converted into a bed when Cassie was old enough... and cost nearly three hundred pounds. “Fine,” he sighed. Vince grinned brilliantly, and Howard knew he was beat. “But I’m warning you, I will not be responsible for any of the planning, not the decorations, nor the guest list, none of that!”

“You just leave it to me, Howard!” Vince exclaimed. “I’m the Prince of Camden, yeah? This is gonna be the most genius baby shower ever!” He pressed a sloppy, enthusiastic kiss to Howard’s cheek, mind already racing with possibilities. 

Howard had a bad feeling about this, but it was pointless to try to convince Vince that he’d changed his mind. Vince _loved_ parties; he was sure to sulk for weeks if Howard were to back out now. 

Later that evening, Howard lay on the bed as Vince loomed over him, feeling unsure and awkward. He and Vince had spent much of the last few days making out like teenagers, kissing until they were breathless, then self-consciously adjusting themselves in their trousers as they broke apart. Even last night, with the Nutella, they hadn’t ventured beyond fevered kisses and half-undressed rutting through their trousers, and Howard suspected that Vince had been holding back out of consideration for his lack of experience.

But Vince wasn’t holding back now--he pressed his erection into Howard’s round stomach, the heat and length of him burning through their clothing. The feel of him ignited an ache deep inside of Howard, an ache that could only be sated by skin-to-skin contact.

Though he was now aware that he was not a virgin, and hadn’t been one for a long time, Howard had never had an experience quite like this--he’d never been with someone he _wanted_ the way he wanted Vince. His previous sexual experiences had been less about mutual affection and pleasure--in fact, they’d mostly been coerced and traumatizing.

Howard shook his head to clear it of the unpleasant memories of his past encounters as Vince draped his body over Howard’s own. Vince was slim, almost bony, and small, but the weight of him was grounding. Howard closed his eyes and focused on the heat of Vince’s body and the comforting press of limbs. Yes, thought Howard, he wanted this. He didn’t know what _this_ was, exactly, but he trusted Vince to make it good. He could feel Vince’s prick, already hard and hotter than the rest of him, through their clothing, and the sensation made Howard whimper with a need he’d never before felt. 

The little moan Howard released went straight to Vince’s cock. Vince was far from a virgin (and unlike Howard, completely aware of the fact), but his sexual exploits had mostly consisted of hurried gropes in bar bathrooms or the dark corner of a club. He’d rarely had the opportunity to take his time, to linger over someone’s body in a proper bed, and Vince was surprised to discover he felt as nervous as he had when he lost his virginity, perhaps even more so. At least, when he’d been a virgin, he didn’t have to worry about taking the lead--he’d just had to lie back and let it happen. 

But this was different. Vince knew that Howard hadn’t really enjoyed so much as endured his previous sexual experiences, and Vince felt the weight of responsibility to make up for Howard’s less-than-pleasant introduction to sex. He knew he’d have only one chance to prove to Howard that sex could be pleasurable, could be tender and full of _love_ \--if he got this wrong, Howard would probably swear off sex for the rest of his life.

Vince loved Howard, but he also loved sex, and while he didn’t want to rush him, he was anxious to be as intimate with Howard as possible. Vince didn’t want to do anything to risk breaking Howard’s heart--or his _own_ heart, for that matter; Vince couldn’t imagine life without Howard by his side. The two weeks Howard had spent in Belgium, filming that commercial for the weird old director, had been the worst two weeks of Vince’s life; only the three days that Howard spent dead had been more unbearable. 

He gazed down at Howard’s face. His eyes were closed, his features set in grim determination. Vince reached up to trace a trembling fingertip over Howard’s brow.

“Look at me,” Vince murmured, and Howard obeyed, his lids flickering open. His eyes were small and dark and gleaming with hope and something else, something that made a thrill shiver down Vince’s spine. No one had ever looked at Vince with such an open expression of hope and trust and adoration, and Vince’s heart stuttered in response.

Howard looked up. His lips parted as he took a deep breath, and Vince wasted no time in fitting his own mouth over Howard’s.

The kiss was unlike any they’d shared before, slow and deep and full of need, hinting at pleasures yet to come. Vince slipped his tongue into Howard’s mouth, and Howard accepted it easily, his tongue twining around Vince’s with a new confidence; Vince knew instinctively that he wouldn’t be able to stop at just kissing, that _this_ time, he and Howard would finally, and irrevocably, cross the physical boundary.

As the kiss deepened, Vince pushed Howard’s shirt up to run his hands over Howard’s belly greedily. The skin was stretched taut and rippled with stretch marks. The sight made his heart stutter--Vince didn’t think he’d seen anything so beautiful before in his life. 

Howard tilted his chin down to watch as Vince’s hands skirted over his bump. It wasn’t the first time Vince had touched Howard’s belly--ever since the baby had begun kicking, he’d barely been able to keep his hands off of it, but Howard had assumed that Vince had merely been trying to feel Cassie kicking. Yet something about the reverence with which Vince was currently caressing his stomach made Howard suspect that perhaps Vince had been using that as an excuse to touch _Howard._

He was still feeling a bit self-conscious about his changing body, especially the deep stretch marks that rippled across his growing belly and tits. Vince seemed to sense his hesitation, breaking the kiss as his fingers traced the marks criss-crossing his stomach.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Vince murmured, cupping Howard’s belly in his palms. 

Howard flushed. “I feel so fat--”

Vince interrupted him with a brief kiss. “You’re amazing. You’re growing a baby-- _our_ baby--inside you--”

It was Howard’s turn to interrupt Vince. He swallowed all the little words Vince had been intending to say, gorging himself on them. He was ravenous for Vince’s praise, so much so that he thought that he would never be sated. His self-consciousness evaporated as Vince continued to lavish attention on his bump, stretch marks and all.

Finally, Vince broke the kiss, reaching up to pull Howard’s shirt off completely. Howard looked shy, but he did not hesitate when Vince yanked his shirt over his head. Vince paused for a moment to admire Howard’s tits--they were a bit fuller than they had been the day that Howard had shucked his shirt to complain about his changing body, his nipples larger and darker, so pink they were almost red. Vince’s mouth watered.

He leaned down and sucked one of those pink and pouting nipples between his lips. Howard squealed and kicked, his knee catching Vince in his side. 

With great reluctance, Vince pulled his mouth off of Howard’s nipple. “All right, Howard?”

Howard swallowed. “Just... sensitive,” he admitted. His nipples had always been sensitive, even before he’d gotten pregnant, but now, they were even more so. He’d used this to great advantage during his pregnancy-hormone fueled wanking sessions, but the sensation didn’t even begin to compare to Vince’s mouth.

“Too much?” Vince asked.

Howard shook his head. “It’s... it’s good. Just... a lot.” He placed a hand on the back of Vince’s head, silently urging him to continue.

Vince obliged. He nibbled and sucked at Howard’s tits, reveling in the tremors that wracked Howard’s body as he did. Every little shiver and moan went right to Vince’s cock, which throbbed and began to leak precum onto his thigh.

It didn’t take long before they were both pulling at each others’ clothing, sliding hands and mouths over exposed skin until they were both naked. Vince had seen Howard naked before (of course he had), but not like this: he’d only ever caught furtive glimpses as Howard was changing. This time, he didn’t have to pretend he wasn’t looking--not that Vince _could_.

Howard had always been big, tall and sturdily-built, but pregnancy had made him positively _voluptuous._ His tits and stomach were rounded with the new life he carried; even his hips seemed wider, as though they had expanded to support Howard’s bump. And Howard’s _cock--_ Vince had seen enough to know that Howard was packing, but he’d never seen him erect. Even the large belly could not distract from the fact that Howard’s cock was easily the largest Vince had ever seen outside of porn, long and thick with a pouting, swollen head, already wet at the tip.

Needing to feel all of Howard against his bare skin, Vince draped his body over Howard’s, moaning as their bodies came into contact. Howard’s skin was soft and smooth, even the sprinkling of fine brown hairs over his torso were silky, unlike Vince’s own darker, coarser body hair. Howard, awkwardly at first, then with more confidence, stroked his hands over Vince’s back. When Vince sucked a line of kisses from his neck down to his chest, Howard nearly _whined,_ and it was all the encouragement Vince needed to nibble at his tits and bite down gently on his nipples, desperate to make Howard make that noise again.

Howard obliged, moaning louder, and Vince couldn’t resist any longer--he reached between his legs to stroke his prick. He’d been intending to only give himself a few strokes, just enough to relieve the ache a bit, but it didn’t take long before he was wanking himself in earnest as he sucked and kissed at Howard’s amazing tits. 

Howard shifted beneath him. Before Vince realized what was happening, one of Howard’s large hands closed around his own, the other fondling Vince’s bollocks tentatively. Vince gasped, and came immediately, all over Howard’s hand.

Vince flushed with embarrassment. He’d been trying to give Howard a good first time, but he’d finished before they’d even really gotten started....

“Wow,” Howard murmured, looking at his spunk-covered hand. He lifted it to his mouth, sniffed, and then his tongue flickered out to taste.

If Vince hadn’t just come, he’d’ve gone off for sure.

“It’s different than I thought it would be,” Howard said. “Saltier than mine.”

Vince moaned. He’d always assumed that Howard was so sexually repressed that he’d be appalled at the mess--he definitely hadn’t expected that Howard would ever taste his own spunk. The image of Howard licking his hand clean after a wank made his prick jump, another dribble of cum leaking from the tip. “Fuck, Howard, you’re so sexy...”

Howard lifted a brow and continued licking Vince’s cum from his fingers. He moaned a bit, just to watch Vince’s reaction. When Vince shuddered and pressed his still-damp prick against Howard’s side, it filled him with a strange sense of pride. He’d been worried about making a fool of himself the first time he’d made love, coming too quickly like a total virgin, but instead, _Howard_ had been the one making _Vince_ lose control. It made him feel sexy and powerful, two things that Howard had never before considered himself to be.

He’d always assumed that being on the bottom automatically meant being the more passive partner, but Howard was beginning to reconsider his assumptions. If he could make Vince fall apart with just a hand around his cock, what would happen when Howard’s whole body clenched around him? The thought made Howard’s still-hard prick leak, and he nudged his erection against Vince’s leg experimentally, another drop of wetness dripping from the tip onto Vince’s hairy thigh.

The sensation brought Vince back to himself. He stared down between Howard’s legs--his cock was red and full, much bigger than Vince had expected. He would definitely need two hands to wank him properly. Christy, he thought, what would Howard feel like in his mouth? Vince had given blowjobs before, but had never attempted to suck anyone as big as Howard...

Vince slid down the bed and put his hands on Howard’s thighs, gently pushing them open. Howard gave him a questioning look, and Vince smirked before pressing a kiss to Howard’s distended belly button, which had stretched as his bump grew. Trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses over the swell of Howard’s belly, he leaned down and took Howard into his mouth--

Howard bucked in surprise. Vince’s mouth on his tits had felt amazing, but even _that_ couldn’t compare to the feeling of Vince’s mouth on his cock. None of his previous partners had done this for him, and it was _amazing--_ hot and wet, much better than even the best wank, and he’d had _lots_ of practice recently. 

When Vince began to _suck_ , Howard’s eyes rolled back in his head. He whimpered and reached down to tangle his hands in Vince’s hair, not caring that Vince would surely complain about it later. He silently cursed his baby bump for blocking the view--he wished that he could burn the image of Vince sucking him for the first time into his memories. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating as intently as he could on the sensations: the warmth of Vince’s mouth, the way his tongue swirled around the head of Howard’s cock, the hand around the base of his penis, sliding up and down, slick with saliva from Vince’s mouth...

Howard’s hips jerked, and Vince sputtered and gagged around him. He pulled his mouth off Howard’s cock. “Stay still, Howard! You’re so big, you’re gonna choke me if you don’t keep still.”

Instead of answering, Howard moaned and thrust into the air. Vince chuckled. “I’m gonna have to tie you down if you keep doing that.”

“Fuck,” Howard moaned. He couldn’t see the smirk on Vince’s face, but he could definitely _hear_ it when Vince muttered, “You’d like that, huh?”

It was an intriguing idea, but Vince was far too impatient to stop what he was doing to make good on his threat and tie Howard down. He pressed his free hand onto one of Howard’s hips, hoping the pressure would be enough to remind Howard to keep still, then opened his mouth and swallowed around that big, beautiful prick once more.

Vince sucked Howard in earnest this time, not bothering with little kitten licks and fancy tongue-work. It didn’t take long before Howard’s cock began throbbing against his tongue, and Vince could taste the bitter saltiness of precum warning him that Howard was close. He sucked harder, forcing a bit more of Howard’s cock into his mouth, until the head brushed against the back of his throat. Vince’s eyes watered, and he willed himself to relax, sliding his lips up and down and back again, increasing the suction a bit each time...

Howard was whining and panting above him. He had managed to avoid fucking Vince’s mouth, but he was not able to keep completely still--he was thrashing about in the sheets, his legs twitching. Vince tightened his lips and sucked harder, and suddenly, Howard’s thighs tensed around Vince’s head, pressing tight against his ears. Vince was about to complain when the prick in his mouth swelled, somehow growing even bigger, and a rush of semen flooded into his mouth.

There was so much of it that Vince couldn’t swallow it all--a bit trickled out the side of his mouth and onto his chin. He kept slurping at Howard greedily, until Howard yelped and tugged at his hair, moaning that it was too much. Only then did Vince pull off, flashing a wicked smile at Howard.

Howard didn’t even wipe Vince’s mouth clean before he kissed him, a deep, desperate kiss with lots of tongue. Vince’s eyes crossed, and his erection, which had swelled to life sometime during the enthusiastic blowjob he’d given Howard, pulsed between his legs at Howard’s wantonness. Even in his filthiest fantasies, he’d never imagined Howard could be so uninhibited during sex, and he was struck with the need to bury himself deep inside Howard’s body, to be as close as possible, to join with him completely....

Caught up in his desire, Vince trailed a fingertip down the crack of Howard’s arse. He teased at the wrinkled skin of his anus gently. When Howard gasped, Vince took it as a sign of encouragement, and, applying a bit more pressure, pushed his fingertip past the tight muscle, sliding inside--

Howard broke the kiss. “Vince!” he exclaimed, sounding scandalized. “We can’t do _that!_ ”

“Why not?” Vince whined, pushing his erection against Howard’s leg. “I want you again, and it’s better like this--you’re all relaxed now--”

His desire warring with his more rational side, Howard admitted, “I don’t want to hurt the baby.” He’d thought about taking Vince inside him, fantasized about it more times than he could count, but as badly as he wanted Vince to make love to him in every way, he was hesitant to do anything that might put the baby at risk.

“Please,” Vince begged, “please let me fuck you, I want to be inside you so bad--” His hips stuttered as he pressed himself closer. He was dangerously close to losing control--he’d wanted this for so long... wanted to be inside Howard, to fuck him, to _breed_ him--

Howard shuffled across the bed, putting a bit of space between them. “Vince! Not until we ask Naboo...”

Vince came back to himself all at once. What was he doing? He’d been so out of his mind with need that he’d almost forgotten he was supposed to be proving to Howard that sex didn’t have to be uncomfortable or forced. “Fuck, Howard, I’m so sorry.” He let his hands droop to his side, and scuttled away to give Howard some more space.

“We don’t have to stop,” Howard said, laying a hand on Vince’s stomach. “We just... I don’t think it would be a good idea to do _that_ , at least until Naboo says it’s OK...”

Vince grasped Howard’s hand in his own and squeezed. “I’m sorry,” he said again, kissing Howard gently in apology. “We don’t have to do anything...”

But Howard surprised him once more by grasping Vince’s prick in his warm, wide hand and stroking gently. “What do you... what do you want?” Howard asked. His brain still felt a little soft from his orgasm. Absently, he wondered if it was possible to leak brain cells out of your penis if you came hard enough. 

Vince didn’t even hesitate. “I want to come on your tits,” he breathed, his prick jumping in Howard’s hand at just the _thought_ of covering Howard’s chest with his cum. 

Howard froze. He hadn’t been surprised to discover that Vince had a dirty mouth, but he’d never imagined anything quite so _filthy_ as this, not even when the pregnancy hormones had kicked in and filled his mind with all sorts of filthy fantasies. 

Vince thrust his erection into Howard’s hand, silently urging him to keep wanking him. “Let me come on your tits, Howard,” he begged, “I’ve been thinking about it for so long...”

Gathering his courage, Howard took a deep breath and started stroking Vince again. “How long?” he asked.

“God, for _months_ ,” Vince moaned, closing a hand around Howard’s, urging him to stroke harder and faster. “Ever since you took your shirt off in the loo that one time... fuck, you made me so hard...” He buried his face in Howard’s modest cleavage, kissing and sucking the soft skin as he wanked himself into their joined hands. 

Howard remembered. He’d been four months along when he’d suddenly sprouted a pair of proper tits overnight. He remembered how Vince had seemed transfixed by his breasts, unable to look away even after Howard put his shirt back on. It had taken _days_ before Vince was able to look him in the eye after that. At the time, Howard had been certain that Vince thought he was some kind of freak and had only said that Howard had good tits to be nice, but now, he understood that perhaps Vince had been telling the truth. Vince certainly seemed to be appreciating Howard’s breasts right now.... 

He sat up, releasing his grasp on Vince’s cock as he leaned his back against the headboard and urged Vince to kneel over his lap. “You can do it,” he murmured, flushing half from arousal and half from embarrassment at doing something so _dirty_. More than anything, he just wanted to make Vince feel good, to make him _come_...

Vince’s eyes widened, a shellshocked expression on his face. “Fuck, Howard...” He reached between his legs to grab his cock, wanking himself in earnest. He could barely believe Howard was letting him do this. 

The hand on his cock sped up; his hips began to thrust as he pushed his cock into his hand. Howard watched, mesmerized, as Vince wanked himself, harder, faster, his breath coming in gasps. Howard cupped his own tits, fondling them in what he hoped was a seductive manner that would drive Vince to orgasm again. When Howard’s tongue slipped out of his mouth to tease the bow of his lips, Vince lost control for the second time.

Even though he’d come not thirty minutes earlier, he was surprised by the intensity of his orgasm--everything went white, then dark, and Vince was very nearly sure that he’d blacked out for a second. When he finally managed to open his eyes, it took a few moments for him to focus. What he saw was the filthiest, sexiest thing he’d ever seen in his life--Howard, chest smeared white with Vince’s semen, absentmindedly running his fingers through the mess.

Vince wanted to say something, but the only thing he could manage was a strangled-sounding _Fuck_. The sound made Howard look up from staring at Vince’s cum on his chest, licking his lips and grinning cheekily. “That was... better than I expected it to be,” Howard admitted, voice somehow a bit shy despite his debauched appearance.

“That was better than _anything_ ,” Vince murmured, curling himself around Howard like a cat. 

“Really?” Howard asked, not quite able to believe that Vince, who had had so much more experience than himself, had thought sex with Howard was better than any sex he’d had before.

“Yes, really, you numpty,” Vince huffed into Howard’s shoulder. He punctuated the words with a gentle nip. “Been thinking about that for _ages_ , but even that...” He trailed off, at a loss for words to describe what it felt like to get off with Howard. “Fuck, if it’s _that_ good just getting off with you like that, imagine what it’ll be like when I’m _inside_ you.”

Both men shivered to imagine it.

“Fuck,” Howard said.

“Yeah, _fuck_ ,” Vince agreed. He reached to the floor and grabbed the first scrap of fabric he could find to clean themselves off, not even minding that it was one of his own. “Now hurry up and get dressed.” He tossed the filthy rag at Howard, who raised an eyebrow though he was quick to obey.

“Don’t you want to lie in for a bit and--”

“No _way_ ,” Vince said emphatically, grabbing a handful of Howard’s pumpkin arse. “We’re going straight upstairs to ask Naboo if we can _do it_ , right _now_.”

Though Howard wanted to linger and luxuriate in the afterglow of the first time he’d _made love_ , he had to agree that Vince had a point. Now that he’d had a taste of what sex could be like between two consenting, very-much-in-love partners, he was all the more anxious to experience a _proper_ bumming. “Lead the way, little man.” He tossed the semen-streaked shirt in Vince’s face, chuckling a bit as Vince sputtered and complained about getting cum on his face.

“Ugh, Howards, that is _well_ filthy.”

“Not _nearly_ as filthy as what I want you to do to me later,” Howard quipped.

Vince dressed himself faster than he’d ever done in his life. He didn’t even bother to make sure his clothing didn’t clash--after all, with any luck, he wouldn’t be wearing them for much longer.


	22. Twenty-two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince and Howard need to get Naboo's approval to cross the physical boundary forever (for medical reasons and because they are decent roommates). Bollo is distraught, Vince and Howard are horny, and Naboo is over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is one big, long tease and we'd be sorry if it wasn't for the fact that it's SO WORTH THE WAIT. As Stoney's fond of saying... everyone gets off harder the longer you wait!

Unfortunately for Vince and Howard, Naboo was absent from the flat, nowhere to be found. A scrawled note on the refrigerator informed them that Naboo was currently away and attending to some cryptic-sounding “shaman business”, which Howard and Vince assumed was most likely drug-related, as shaman business tended to be.

They amused themselves for a while baby-proofing the flat, or rather, Vince did the baby-proofing while Howard perched on the sofa, lecturing him about the importance of plugging electrical outlets and the dangers that even the most innocuous things, such as blinds, posed to a small and defenseless baby such as Cassie. 

Vince, who had grown up in the jungle, which had been full of danger in the form of animal predators, poisonous plants, and precarious ecological formations, grumbled, but followed Howard’s instructions. “Is it really necessary to secure the blinds just yet?” he mumbled, staring at the little device that was intended to prevent Cassie from strangling herself on hanging cords. “Cassie’s not going to be crawling for a while. Babies mostly sleep for the first few months, anyway....”

“Of  _ course _ it’s necessary,” Howard huffed, about to launch into another lecture on the perils of common household objects. Vince was already regretting questioning him. “Babies need to learn the importance of having safe fun early on--”

“Alright, alright, sorry I asked,” Vince grumbled, sticking the device to the wall and looping the excess cord around it. “Do you think we need to put up those bumpers on the coffee table?”

“The coffee table, the bookcase, the TV stand, the kitchen island....” Howard continued listing all the sharp corners within crawling distance.

“Might be easier just to swaddle her in bubble wrap,” Vince muttered.

He’d been joking, but of course Howard’s mind latched onto the idea immediately. “Do you think we could?” he asked eagerly.

“Not sure,” Vince admitted. “Think that stuff’s a choking hazard, anyway.”

Howard’s face fell. 

“We could line the crib with packing peanuts,” Vince said, hoping Howard would cotton on to the joke. “Or get her to wear one of those puffy ski suits all the time in case she falls down when she starts walking.” 

Howard snorted to himself, imagining poor Cassie sweltering as she walked to school in a puffy ski suit. 

“Don’t worry too much, Howard. Nippers get hurt sometimes, it’s how they learn. But they’re tough. Cassie’ll be tough… one of her dads is a kangaroo boxer from Leeds, the other’s a cockney ragamuffin from the streets of South London. No one’ll touch her!” He raised his fists like he was going to enter an old timey boxing match, and Howard cracked a proper smile. 

“You forget that that kangaroo almost killed me,” Howard pointed out. “And you’re  _ not _ a Cockney ragamuffin--you come from a long line of French dukes.” He stood and arched his back in an attempt to try and alleviate the near-constant pain, and proceeded to assist Vince install the rubber bumpers to the corners that did not involve too much bending or crouching. 

“Well,” said Vince, cocking his head, “she’s got a whole army of Shaman looking out for her, doesn’t she? Genius. Like fairy godmothers, but with more…” 

“Drugs,” supplied Howard.    
  


It was late before Vince and Howard heard the telltale sound of Naboo’s Shaman trainers followed by Bollo’s lumbering steps up the stairs. The boys sat on the couch, trying to look cool, calm, and collected, and not as if they were simply waiting around for their landlord-slash-friend-slash-former-co-worker-slash-obstetrician-slash-spiritual care provider’s permission to bum each other senseless. 

“All right, Naboo,” greeted Vince as soon as the tiny Shaman was through the doorway. Naboo just nodded a greeting, Bollo grunted, and the pair proceeded up the stairs to their room. Howard and Vince exchanged a nervous glance, then stood in tandem and followed them. 

“Naboo?” called Howard. “Naboolio, old pal…”

Naboo turned, halfway up the stairs. “Stop being weird, Howard. What do you want?”

“We erm. We have a question.” Naboo sighed his long-suffering sigh, and proceeded to mount the steps. He did not, however, slam the door in their faces so Howard and Vince followed him to the attic-turned-Shaman-penthouse. 

It looked similar to how Naboo’s bedroom, now the nursery, had looked: psychedelic colors, drapey fabrics, shelves and cabinets chock-full of magical books and ephemera, and scores of floor cushions for optimum hookah usage. 

Howard and Vince stood just inside the door, shuffling around nervously. “What is it?” Naboo deadpanned. 

“Well, see, Howard and I have been snogging and we want to take that to its logical conclusion,” said Vince matter-of-factly.

Naboo grimaced. “So you two have finally figured things out,” he said enigmatically. He was not at all surprised--he figured that Vince and Howard would reach this point eventually, even if they were terribly dense even by human standards. “Congratulations.” Somehow he managed to say it so sarcastically that it didn’t sound very congratulatory at all. 

“Can I--can we--um... have, um...” Howard stuttered. As badly as he wanted to make sure that having sex with Vince wouldn’t harm the baby, he was still too embarrassed to say the words aloud.

Luckily, he didn’t have to. “Howard wants to know if we can have sex without hurting the baby,” Vince said. He flashed a smile at Howard, one that was full of filthy promise. “You know,  _ full penetration.”  _

His bluntness made Howard blush. 

For his part, Naboo was disgusted but not at all surprised. He’d been waiting for the two idiots to ask the question for months now, pretty much ever since Howard had been diagnosed with an alien pregnancy, but then again, his roommates had always been a bit slow on the uptake. At  _ least _ a decade slow, Naboo figured. 

“Gross.” The shaman grimaced and walked over to the cupboard where he kept his collection of grimoires. Selecting a volume entitled  _ Magical Midwifery _ off the shelf, he paged through it a bit; then, finding what he was looking for, squinted his eyes to read the elaborately scripted type. “As your flatmate, I’m inclined to say  _ no _ . But since I had to take a blood-binding Hippocratic oath to practice magical midwifery, I am obliged under the penalty of a long and excruciating death by fire to tell you that it’s perfectly healthy for both you and the baby to have sex up until the day you give birth, but then you’ll have to heal for six weeks before engaging in  _ full penetration _ .” 

Howard blushed so hard his ears burned. 

Ever shameless, Vince grinned. “You hear that, Howard? Now let’s get back to bed, so I can give you a right proper bumming!” He gave Howard’s arse a grope for good measure.

“Vince!” Howard yelped, but he leaned into the touch. 

“Bollo have a bad feeling about this,” Bollo grumbled under his breath, which smelled of marijuana and bananas. 

Normally Naboo would mock Bollo for his tendency to have bad feelings about everything, but the truth was, Naboo had a bad feeling about being in the flat while Vince was busy sticking his bits up Howard’s bum for the first time. “Cool it, you two,” Naboo barked, eyeing his two human flatmates with a withering stare. The two men took the hint and stopped groping each other, blushing hotly when they realized that Naboo and Bollo had been observing their foreplay. “At least have the decency to hold off on the sodomy until Bollo and I are out of the flat, yeah?”

Bollo pulled Vince aside, shooting Howard dirty looks. “Look, Vince,” said Bollo. “We friends a long time. Vince precious flower. Harold big, wrinkly ballbag. You not have to do anything with Harold you don’t want to do.” 

Vince smiled sheepishly. “Aw, Bollo,” he said, putting an arm around the ape. “That’s really sweet. But me and Howard are going to do  _ everything.”  _ He smiled wickedly as Bollo shook his head in disgust.

Naboo gagged. As for Bollo, the gorilla hung his head in despair, bemoaning Vince’s loss of innocence. “Bollo try to be good ape, raise you right,” he moaned. “Where Bollo go wrong?”

“There, there,” Naboo said, patting Bollo on his hairy shoulder to comfort his distraught familiar. “You did nothing wrong. It’s hopeless--save yourself while you still can and get out of this place before the bumming begins.” The words did not achieve their intended effect--Bollo hung his head and wept.

Nonplussed, Naboo rummaged through his robes in search of his mobile. It took a while to locate his phone--Naboo had to empty his pockets before he managed to find it, laying a pile of marijuana, various pills and powders, and myriad crystals and vials of magical elixirs on the floor of his attic bedroom.

Vince and Howard stared at the impressive pile of psychoactive substances. “I hope that once Cassie arrives, you’ll be more careful about leaving your drugs around,” Howard scolded.

Naboo ignored him in favor of punching a number into his mobile and waiting for an answer. “Yo, Saboo... Yeah, it’s Naboo,” he lisped. “Look, Bollo and I need to stay at your place tonight. No… This is not  _ technically _ the Crunch, but Vince and Howard--they’re about to cross the physical boundary, and I don’t think there are enough drugs in the world to keep Bollo and I from being traumatized by it. Also, you were right and I owe you a hundred quid... Okay, cheers.”

Naboo ended the call and stuffed the mobile back in one of his many pockets. “That settles it. We’re leaving, and we won’t be back for two days. Remember, Bollo and I live here, too, so don’t be nasty-- keep it in your bedroom.” 

“Aww, where’s the fun in that?” Vince teased.

“I might actually vomit,” Naboo gagged. 

“Don’t you worry, sir,” Howard said pompously. “Howard Moon is not easily buffetted about on the winds of passion. I’ll keep Vince in line--”

“Poor, precious Vince,” Bollo wailed.

Naboo patted his familiar comfortingly. “Save yourself, Bollo,” he repeated. “C’mon, let’s pack. We’re still going to need enough drugs to forget our own names if we want to survive this.” 

Just then, Naboo’s mobile chimed with an incoming call. He fumbled with his robes for bit before pulling his mobile out to answer. “What? No, you and Kirk cannot come watch, you perverted pink sentient testicle.” Vince could barely hear the tinny cry of “outrage!” before Naboo hung up the phone again. 

“What are you waiting for?” Naboo snapped. “Get out of here so Bollo and I can get our supplies ready.” The Shaman and his familiar turned their backs on their flatmates and began to assemble their arsenal of consciousness-altering substances.

Vince looked over to Howard, who was giving him a look that could only be described as predatory. The pure lust in his eyes sent a rush of blood straight to Vince’s cock. “Ready?” Vince asked.

Howard flushed. He was as ready as he would ever be, only he  _ had _ promised Naboo that he would ensure that Vince did not give in to his passion while the shaman and his familiar were still in the flat. “Not quite,” he mumbled, stalling a bit. “Could do with a spot of supper first.”

“Ugh,  _ really _ , Howard?” Vince groaned.

Howard shrugged. “Might be a good idea to fuel up. We’re going to need the energy...”

As anxious as he was to bum Howard for the very first time, Vince had to admit that perhaps Howard had a point. “Sex does work up an appetite if you’re doing it right,” he agreed. “”Sides, once I got you in bed, I intend to keep you there all night long...”

Howard’s cheeks burned even redder than Vince thought possible. Howard, Vince considered, was absolutely  _ adorable _ , but he knew better than to voice his observation aloud. Instead, he slung an arm around Howard’s waist, and the two men descended down the stairs, heading to the kitchen for a fortifying supper, soon to be followed by rather vigorous bumming.    
  


Once Naboo and Bollo had truly vacated the flat, Vince and Howard set about the task of preparing a hearty, yet romantic, meal. Vince, who wasn’t prone to nerves or anxiety, felt his stomach flutter. They had the flat to themselves. They’d gotten the okay from Naboo to do  _ everything _ , and tonight was not only going to be Vince and Howard’s first time together: it would be Howard’s first time making love  _ ever _ . Vince snuck a glance at Howard, who was mixing salad in a bowl. Howard smiled at him, and it wasn’t creepy--it was sweet, and it sent warmth flushing through Vince’s entire body. With a rush of affection, Vince recalled to himself that even though Howard was very pregnant and very much  _ not  _ a virgin this was, in effect, his first time. Months ago, when Howard was having his virginity crisis, Vince had comforted him by reminding him that giving yourself freely, with consent and affection, to someone was going to be a whole new experience for him. Now, Vince was feeling the pressure to live up to that promise. He wanted Howard’s first time to be  _ perfect _ \--romantic, beautiful, something worth remembering.

Vince’s first time had been rushed, and he’d felt cheap and used after. He’d wanted to cry when he came back to the room in the dingy keeper’s hut he shared with Howard, wanted nothing more than to snuggle up next to Howard and cry and whisper, “It should have been you.” But that was long in the past now, and Vince took it upon himself to make sure Howard’s first foray into the world of sexual bliss would be better than his own.

Though Howard, if asked, would insist that he was a man of action, Vince knew that his friend (no, his  _ lover _ , his brain cell corrected) was a romantic at heart. Which was why Vince had insisted on making a special dinner for Howard, complete with champagne (for himself) and sparkling water (for the very pregnant Howard). He’d insisted on making Howard’s favorite meal, tikka masala with chicken and peas and fluffy, fragrant basmati rice, even though Vince wasn’t much of a cook. He’d been practicing lately, however, and was keen to show off his newly-developed skills to his soon-to-be lover.

Lost in his thoughts, he smelled burning. “Shit!” he exclaimed, realizing the rice was smoking on the stovetop, and the curry was boiling rather than simmering, filling the kitchen with the distinct smell of scalded cream. 

Howard came rushing over, concern in his voice. “Did you hurt yourself, Little Man?” Vince swallowed the lump in his throat, a combination of disappointment in himself and his skills (or lack thereof) and Howard’s kindness. 

“No,” pouted Vince. “Only gone and ruined the food.” 

Howard peered over Vince at the stovetop. “Well, the rice in the middle should be okay,” he said, trying to sound calm and cheerful. Howard took the pot off the burner, and moved the curry as well. “It’s not all ruined,” he said. Poor Vince, he thought. He was trying so hard, and Howard’s heart swelled with the knowledge that Vince had gone outside his comfort zone (takeaway and candy) to try and do something nice, even romantic, for Howard. He turned, and saw Vince standing off to the side, toes pointed in towards each other awkwardly, hands pushing through his hair. 

“‘M’sorry, Howard,” he said quietly. He watched Howard, belly so swollen he could barely reach the stovetop around it, putter about confidently, fixing the mess Vince had made. He wanted to sob.  _ Why’m I like this, always messing things up?  _ he thought to himself. He sniffled, wiping a runaway tear on his sleeve.  _ Howard deserves better than me.  _

At that moment, Howard turned. “We’ll have plenty still to eat--” He saw Vince, small, huddled, looking for all the world like he had when they were children. He checked the food once more, then folded the smaller man into his arms. “It’s completely fine, Vince.” 

“Wanted to wine and dine you and I can’t even do that properly,” Vince said, voice muffled in Howard’s shoulder. Howard chuckled a bit. 

“Vince. You absolute numpty. We’ve been dining and wining each other for  _ years.  _ You think this one meal is going to change anything?” He pressed a kiss to Vince’s cheek, then his closed eyelids, his sloped nose, then his lips. “I’d take a lifetime of burned basmati with you over perfect dinners with anyone else.” 

Howard’s sincerity cracked Vince’s heart even more. “I know,” he said, grabbing Howard’s hand, loving the feel of his own tangled with Howard’s long, nimble musician’s fingers. He brought their hands to his lips and kissed Howard’s. “We could make a crimp about Burned Basmati.” Howard smiled and they worked on the new crimp as they salvaged the remains of their meal, which went rather smoothly, except for the part where Vince knocked over one of the fancy candles he’d nicked from Naboo for mood lighting. Luckily, Howard, thinking quickly, managed to put it out by pouring the champagne onto the flame before anything caught fire.

Aside from the slightly-burned food, the crying, and the almost-fire, overall, it was a pretty romantic dinner. Vince cleared the table, intending to serve Howard some of the chocolate cake he’d picked up while running errands they day before, but as soon as he bent down to get plates for serving dessert, Howard cornered him against the kitchen counter, one of Howard’s large hands cupping Vince’s arsecheek and squeezing.

“What’re you doing?” Vince squealed, surprised at Howard’s forwardness. 

Howard licked his lips and squeezed Vince’s arse. “Having dessert,” he said, voice deep and hoarse.

His face was close, growing closer--Vince could feel his breath on his cheek. “I’m supposed to be seducing  _ you, _ ” he grumbled, just as Howard’s lips settled over his own.

“You already have,” Howard murmured into Vince’s mouth.

The fact that Vince followed Howard to the bedroom, leaving the cake on the counter, uneaten and forgotten, was testament to how badly he wanted Howard. After all the years of pining, he could wait no longer--and judging from the way that Howard led him to the bedroom, eagerly running his hands over Vince’s body, he was pretty sure that Howard couldn’t either.


	23. Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince and Howard take their physical relationship to its logical conclusion. That's it, that's the chapter. 5000 words of utter filth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter you've all been waiting for! Many thanks to A_Little_Boosh_Maid for your tireless beta work.

Howard’s mouth slotted over Vince’s, hot, insistent, needy. Vince gave as good as he got, licking hungrily into Howard’s mouth, moaning unabashedly. He’d wanted this for  _ years.  _ He didn’t give a damn anymore about playing it cool or maintaining his image. All that mattered was  _ Howard.  _

Howard, for his part, was so touch-starved, so desperate for Vince’s touch, that he forgot to play the blushing virgin. He mewled into Vince’s mouth, Vince’s familiar strawberry scent overwhelming him and pairing with the champagne still on Vince’s tongue so sweetly that tasting him was more decadent than any dessert. Howard groaned at the thought, arching into Vince. Vince broke away, grinning wickedly as he led Howard to the bed. Howard sat awkwardly on the edge and Vince stood before him, nudging open his knees to slot out a space between his legs. Vince leaned in, brushing against Howard’s belly, and carding his fingers through Howard’s curls, kissed him, slower this time, more teasing. Howard’s eyes shut and he gave himself over to simply  _ feeling,  _ urging his whirring mind to  _ shut up for once goddamn it.  _ He reached around and grabbed Vince’s ass, drawing him closer as Vince sighed into his mouth. Tongues teased and explored as Vince let his hands draw down the back of Howard’s neck, across his shoulders, eliciting a shiver from the larger man. 

Eventually, Vince drew back; Howard whined at the loss. Vince shucked his own shirt quickly, then helped Howard remove his. Gently, Vince pushed him down so Howard was laid out on his back, then rounded the foot of the bed. Howard sat up on his elbows to watch as Vince gently removed Howard’s sandals, then peeled off his socks. Grinning mischievously, Vince wrapped his hand around Howard’s ankle, then lifted Howard’s bare foot to his mouth to kiss the bump of Howard’s ankles bone as his other hand crept up Howard’s leg to stroke his calves. 

Howard grinned to himself and tipped his head back, giving himself over to the feel of Vince exploring his body, his ever-present self-conscious internal monologue finally gone quiet. He felt Vince’s fingers dip below the waistband of his trousers, and instinctively lifted his hips to help Vince divest him of his trousers. Howard was already half-hard, his erection obvious through the thin cotton of his pants. He’d never been this naked before, not in front of another person with the intent to make love with them, and he supposed he should be embarrassed but was too turned on, too eager to care. Instead of trying to hide himself, he spread his legs even more widely, aware of Vince’s wide blue eyes staring intently at the bulge between his legs.

Vince inhaled, sharp and loud in the quiet room, looking Howard over hungrily. Howard’s cock pulsed, filling with blood until he was fully erect without Vince even having to touch him  _ there _ . The head of his erection poked out of the gaping fly of his loose boxers, and then Vince was leaning his head down into Howard’s lap to place a wet, sucking kiss onto the tip of Howard’s penis that made Howard moan. Howard couldn’t see Vince over the swell of his stomach, but he could imagine his impish grin. Vince slid his mouth from Howard’s cock to the inside of his thigh, then moved back down to his ankle, sucking a line of wet kisses up Howard’s slim, sparsely-furred legs. 

Vince had always teaseed Howard about his “northern pins” though he secretly admired (and was perhaps a bit envious of) his slim, shapely legs. Up close they were even more impressive: well-muscled calves, slim yet strong thighs, covered with a sparse dusting of fine, soft hair… Playfully, Vince placed a delicate kiss to the ticklish spot behind Howard’s knee, earning him a breathy giggle that made Vince smile against Howard’s skin before he continued kissing up Howard’s thighs, starting from the outside and working his way in. Howard’s pulse was warm and steady beneath his tongue, thrumming through the skin more quickly as Vince teased his way up Howard’s inner thigh until his prominent nose brushed against Howard’s erection.

Howard whined and pushed his hips up in an attempt to push his cock into Vince’s warm, teasing mouth, but Vince ignored the silent plea, instead skipping past his groin to pay attention to Howard’s belly. 

He’d always loved Howard’s stomach, even before his pregnancy, when Howard’s belly was pudgy and soft and thick. Yet the mere sight of Howard’s pregnant bump, taut and round and full of growing life, made Vince  _ hard _ . He ran his hands over Howard’s belly, tracing the furrowed stretch marks with his fingers and mouth, sighing softly in pleasure as he did so. Being able to worship Howard’s body like this made Vince light-headed, all the blood in his body rushing between his legs to make his cock throb and leak with need. He rubbed his erection against Howard’s calf as he tongued each pink stretch mark, tracing them one-by-one with lips and tongue. Howard shifted, and Vince opened his eyes and looked up at him. Howard’s brow was furrowed and he was biting his lip, looking... pained. 

“All right?” he asked, his voice gravelly and rough with desire. “What is it, Howard?” Vince asked, clearing his throat in an attempt to sound concerned rather than lustful, aware that Howard needed careful handling. 

“I hate being so… fat,” he said flatly. 

Vince crinkled his nose in confusion. “You’re not  _ fat,  _ Howard,” he pointed out. “You’re  _ pregnant. _ ”

“Well, I’m big and grotesque and I… I don’t like the way I look.” 

Vince had always known this about Howard. He hid it with bluster and bravado, but even someone as dim as Vince could see that Howard was insecure. Hearing him say it out loud, however, broke Vince’s heart. He’d always thought Howard was the standard to which all other men should be held, and resolved to love Howard into a healthier self-image to the best of his abilities. 

“You look gorgeous,” Vince said. “I love your belly.” He dusted it with gentle kisses. “I love your stretch marks,” he said as he traced one particularly virulent pink rivulet with his tongue. “I love your hips,” he whispered as he bit Howard’s hip, gently but enough that Howard felt the sting rush straight to his cock. “I love, love,  _ love  _ your tits,” Vince said, closing his mouth over one, laving the nipple with his tongue. 

Howard moaned...  _ fuck,  _ that felt good. Vince continued for a few minutes, then kissed up the column of Howard’s neck. “I love your throat,” said Vince, peppering kisses up and down, then pausing to suck a love bite right above the collarbone. Howard was squirming, rubbing his hands up and down Vince’s back, grabbing his shoulders, his arse,  _ anything  _ he could hold onto. 

Vince sat up and gripped Howard’s hair in his hand, pulling and forcing Howard’s head back. He growled into Howard’s ear, “I love your hair. It’s almost as good as mine and that’s unforgivable.” He bit Howard’s earlobe, then sucked his way down to Howard’s jawline. 

Howard was whining audibly now. He had no  _ idea  _ there were so many erogenous places on the body--on  _ his  _ body. He reached beneath his belly to rub at his aching cock. Vince noticed and slapped his wrist. “I love that, too, and it’s for me, you hear?”

“Oh god,  _ Vince,  _ yes,” breathed Howard. Vince laced his fingers through Howard’s to keep them from wandering and kissed him again on the mouth, long, and slow, and sensual. 

“I love you like this,” Vince whispered in between kisses, so overcome with lust and affection he didn’t realize he’d said Those Three Words, which had remained unspoken between the two men up until this moment, with the exception of that long-ago disastrous trip to the Arctic. However, people said things they didn’t mean in near-death situations all the time, and neither Vince nor Howard had been particularly keen to pick up the conversation once they’d escaped certain death.

But this time, the words burned into Howard’s brain. He broke the kiss, dumbstruck. “You... love me?” he repeated.

Vince flushed. He hadn’t  _ meant _ to say it, and now that he had--there was no going back. He couldn’t take them back, didn’t  _ want _ to. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I--I love you,” he repeated, a little more strongly, a little more sure of himself.

Howard flung himself into Vince’s arms, all long limbs and big belly. Vince let out an  _ oof, _ but clutched him close as Howard alternated between kissing him and murmuring  _ I love you, too _ over and over like a mantra _. _ “You love me,” Howard said, sounding awestruck, as if he could barely believe it.

“’Course I love you, you nonce,” Vince said, halfway between teasing and affectionate. “Dunno why it’s so hard to believe. I been taking good care of you, haven’t I?”

“It’s just... I’ve loved you for so long, but you’re so beautiful, and shiny, and happy--all the things I’m not,” Howard said softly. “I just... I never thought that you’d ever feel the same. Especially--especially now that I’m pregnant, with someone else’s baby--”

“Oh, Howard,” Vince interrupted, tucking a strand of Howard’s hair behind his ear and tugging on his earlobe affectionately. “I keep tellin’ you... I don’t care about what those aliens did to you. They’re too stupid to know how special and lovable you ‘n Cassie are.” A jealous surge of emotion roiled inside him, and Vince traced Howard’s lips with his thumb, leaning in to press a possessive kiss onto them. “’Side’s, you said it yourself--Cassie’s  _ mine. _ It don’t matter none that the aliens put her inside you--you’re  _ mine _ now. Both of you.” He kissed Howard again, this time long and deep, as if to remind Howard exactly who he belonged to.

Howard positively  _ melted _ . Vince wasn’t one for heartfelt emotional confessions--usually Vince avoided the heavier emotions altogether, preferring to joke and tease until the conversation steered towards more comfortable, often inane, topics. He knew how much it must have taken for Vince to say such things aloud, and he brimmed with pride and affection for his friend--his  _ lover _ . Howard tried to convey the intensity of his emotions with his lips and his hands, but he knew he lacked finesse. He wasn’t nearly as practiced or skilled as Vince, but what he lacked in skill he tried to make up for with earnestness, kissing and sucking at Vince’s swollen lips, raking nails down the smaller man’s back, reaching desperately for his hot, stiff cock between their bodies. 

Vince nearly shouted as he felt Howard’s hand wrap around his length, rubbing uncertainly. He slipped his hand over Howard’s, guiding him, showing him how he liked to be touched. The intimacy of it was almost too much, Vince could feel his bollocks tightening--

“Howard,” he whispered, moving back. “I  _ need  _ to be inside you,” he growled. Howard’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head at the statement which hung heavy in the quiet air between them. He nodded. 

“How--how does this work?” Howard asked, feeling like a blushing virgin despite the burgeoning belly that proved otherwise.

“Not sure,” Vince admitted. “I never been with anyone pregnant before.” He bit his lip, thinking deeply, trying to figure out the best way to position Howard so as not to put too much stress on Howard’s belly. He wanted to be able to look Howard in the eye as he made love to him, but the position required too much bending about the middle to be comfortable for a man in Howard’s condition, and while on all fours seemed the obvious choice, it also seemed too... impersonal... for Howard’s first time. Suddenly, inspiration struck. “I got an idea,” Vince said, sliding off the bed and sinking down to his knees.

Howard looked at him, curious.

“Lie on your side, on the edge of the bed, with your back to me,” he instructed. Howard obliged, though he was still a little too close to the center of the bed for what Vince wanted to do with him, so Vince tugged him closer to the edge. “Good,” he murmured, sliding a hand along Howard’s flank. “Just lie like that and relax, yeah?”

He shuffled on his knees to the nightstand, where he rummaged through his drawer for the lubricant he’d picked up at Boots the day after that first kiss in the nursery for exactly this purpose. The plastic seal on the bottle crackled conspicuously as he twisted it open, and Howard peeked over his shoulder with a question in his eyes.

“Just a little something to make this easier,” Vince explained, returning to his spot by the bed, kneeling in front of Howard’s gorgeous, generous arse. He took a moment to gaze at it and appreciate the curve of his cheeks and the two small dimples just above the swell of his arse. “All you gotta do is relax.” He dribbled some of the slippery stuff onto his hand, rubbing it between his fingers to warm it up a bit. With his free hand, he parted the cheeks of Howard’s arse, pausing to kiss the dimples at the base of Howard’s spine before he began rubbing at Howard’s anus.

Vince took his time, rubbing and massaging, getting Howard wet, not trying to penetrate him quite yet. Howard had never thought of this part of himself as particularly erotic, although he’d done some... experimenting... after his encounter with the aliens, but as Vince’s warm, wet fingertips teased at the sensitive skin, Howard began to rethink his assumptions. He whined, and though he could not see Vince’s answering smirk, he felt it against the skin of his lower back. 

“You ready for more?” Vince asked.

Howard whined again. “C’mon Vince, get on with it!” he blurted, unable to contain his impatience. 

“Don’t wanna rush this,” Vince shushed, but he did press a fingertip a little more firmly against Howard’s hole. It took some effort, but tightly-furled skin finally relaxed enough to let Vince slip inside up to the first knuckle before Howard clenched.

He removed his finger, adding a bit more lubricant before trying again. When his finger was halfway inside, he rotated it in gentle circles, stretching Howard bit by bit as he slid his finger deeper, deeper still, up to the knuckle.

The stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, just awkward, Howard thought, when Vince began to push his finger in and out of Howard’s body slowly. He knew from his encounter with the aliens that it had the potential to feel really, really good... Maybe a single finger just wasn’t enough. “More,” he whined, shimmying his hips impatiently. “More, Vince, give me more!”

Vince shuddered. Howard begging for more was the sexiest thing he’d ever experienced--he’d been so sure that Howard would be blushing and shy in bed, yet Howard responded eagerly to each tentative step they’d taken across the physical boundary. “I’ll give you  _ more _ ,” he growled, drizzling a bit more lube onto his hand, giving Howard two fingers this time.

Howard took his fingers beautifully, with a soft, pleased sigh as Vince penetrated him. His inner muscles fluttered and sucked at Vince’s fingers, as if trying to pull him deeper. While Vince had intended to take his time coaxing Howard open, he felt his resolve crumble with each little gasp and enthusiastic wiggle of Howard’s hips. Vince swore, reminding himself not to rush this, knowing that while Howard may not have been a  _ complete _ virgin, this was Howard’s first time, in a way--hadn’t Vince said it himself, that Howard’s first time making love would still be his first time? Vince was determined that the experience would be the first time Howard deserved.

Howard’s body yielded to him eagerly. He was beginning to feel a bit more full, especially when Vince gently scissored his fingers to spread him open. Howard nudged backward, pushing Vince’s fingers inside him all the way. When he did, Vince’s fingertips nudged at something inside him that sent sparks up his spine, and Howard yelped in surprise and pleasure. 

“God, Howard,” Vince groaned, inserting a third finger, which slid inside smoothly, “you’re so loose for me already...”

Howard made a choked-sounding noise, his muscles fluttering around Vince’s fingers. “I’ve been... practicing,” he admitted. 

Vince propped himself up on an elbow to catch a glimpse of Howard’s expression. He was flushed from his face to his chest, a sheepish look on his face. “Practicing?” he asked, unable to stifle his curiosity. 

Howard nodded, not breaking eye contact. “You know, with my fingers,” he murmured,forcing himself not to break eye contact. 

The mental image of Howard fucking himself on his own hand made Vince moan. He pushed his fingers all the way inside, searching for the little bundle of nerves that would make Howard feel even better. When his fingertips nudged against the slightly-firmer spot against Howard’s velvety-smooth inner walls, he crooked his fingertips a bit and  _ pressed _ .

Howard let out a high-pitched moan. “It was... fine,” he panted. “Never could quite... reach. This is better--feels so good--”

“This is better, isn’t it, Howard?” Vince growled, tapping Howard’s prostate rhythmically. “You like having my fingers inside you.”

It wasn’t a question, but Howard nodded. “Yeah. Want you--want you so bad--” Vince pulled his fingers out of Howard without warning, leaving Howard feeling strangely bereft and so, so empty.

He needn’t have worried--Vince was busy slicking lubricant onto his erection, which was almost painfully hard despite the fact that he’d barely touched himself while he’d been fingering Howard open. “Shove over,” he demanded, nudging Howard towards the center of the bed impatiently. He settled himself along the long line of Howard’s body, lining himself up with the crease between Howard’s cheeks. He thrust slowly, experimentally sliding his cock up and down, until it nudged at Howard’s opening. Howard sucked in a deep breath, bracing himself, his muscles going tense. “Shh, just relax,” Vince soothed, and that was all it took--Howard went boneless, slack and perfectly pliant beside him.

Vince pushed his hips forward, slowly, slowly, until he slipped inside Howard with a sound that was almost a  _ pop _ . He sighed, listening to Howard’s answering exhalation, before nudging himself further inside, bracing himself with a hand on Howard’s hip.

Howard hadn’t known it was possible to feel so  _ full _ \--his muscles burned a bit with the stretch, but it was a pleasant ache, tantalizing him with the promise of  _ more. _ He pushed his arse back against Vince, silently urging him deeper, feeling his muscles part to accept Vince’s cock until he felt the crinkle of Vince’s pubic hair against his cheeks. Vince paused for a moment, lingering inside fully, before pulling back with a groan.

The position wasn’t conducive to the quick, animalistic thrusting that Vince craved, but it did allow him to penetrate Howard deeply. He steadied himself, sliding his cock in and out slowly, circling his hips every time that he bottomed out, just to try and get that little bit deeper...

Suddenly, Vince’s cock nudged against  _ that _ spot. Howard whimpered, reaching back to clutch Vince’s hip, urging him to continue that deep, corkscrew thrusting. Vince obliged, watching as Howard’s face grew red, his mouth wide and gasping with want while Vince fucked him.

The pressure was building in Howard’s cock, his bollocks, the base of his spine--every part of him ached to come, and he hadn’t even had to touch himself, only let Vince fuck against his prostate. Bracing himself on his palms, he pushed his hips forward and back, angling himself exactly right so that Vince’s cock put constant pressure on  _ that _ spot, letting the feeling build and build...

Vince lay back on the bed, watching the muscles of Howard’s back and thighs tense and release, watching Howard fuck himself on Vince’s cock greedily. He was captivated, struck dumb by the sight of Howard using Vince’s cock to chase his pleasure. It made him feel dirty in the best way possible, as if he existed for no other purpose but to make Howard feel good.

The hand on Howard’s hip slid forward, and Howard whined and shimmied, trying to nudge Vince’s hand down between his legs to grasp at his cock. But Vince merely cupped his belly, his wide, short fingers and palm caressing the swell of his stomach. “That’s my baby in your belly, isn’t it, Howard?” Vince panted. 

“Yes,” Howard moaned, “your baby...”

The hand on Howard’s stomach tightened possessively. “I put that baby there, didn’t I?” 

Howard peered over his shoulder, looking confused. Of course Vince had to know that the aliens had gotten him pregnant....

“Tell me that I fucked our baby into you, please Howard, please,” Vince begged. He was returning Howard’s gaze with such an intense look of adoration that Howard was unable to deny him.

“Yes,” Howard breathed.

Vince moaned. “Say it, oh please,  _ Howard _ , I need to hear you say it...”

“You fucked the baby into me Vince, you fucked me so good you got me pregnant--”

That did it. Vince came instantly, so hard he was pretty sure his bollocks were turned inside out. Cumming inside Howard was every bit as incredible as he’d imagined--better, even. His cock twitched as he spent himself inside Howard, and he half-consciously imagined his sperm filling and impregnating Howard. The thought caused another pulse as Howard’s insides milked him so good, and so completely. 

He lay panting beside Howard; after catching his breath, he eased his softerning penis out of Howard’s hole. Howard clenched and whined at the loss, as if trying to keep Vince inside. The sensation was too much for Vince’s oversensitized nerves, and he pulled out with great reluctance, not the least because Howard still hadn’t come. Vince felt a bit embarrassed about that--after all, he’d promised himself that Howard’s first time would be  _ perfect _ , would be all about Howard’s pleasure, yet he’d lost control before he’d been able to make Howard come.

Vince prided himself on his sexual prowess, but he was beginning to realize he was powerless to control himself around Howard. Perhaps it was Howard’s sexy pregnancy body, or perhaps all the years of simmering, unspoken sexual tension, finally consummated. His mind was too fogged with the aftermath of his orgasm to think clearly about much of anything at all aside from getting Howard off.

Howard lay on his side, savoring the languid, boneless feel of having received a particularly enthusiastic bumming. A glance over his shoulder at Vince, red-faced and disheveled, his usually perfectly-coiffed hair a sweaty mess, filled him with a curious sense of pride. He, Howard Moon, had done that to Vince, made him come so hard he’d forgotten his vanity.

Vince caught Howard’s eye, saw the pride and wonderment there, and his resolve to get Howard off renewed. Howard--his beautiful Howard--deserved to feel this good, too. “Fuck, Howard, touch yourself for me,” Vince begged. 

Howard balked. He’d been well practiced in the ways of self-love, but he’d never had an audience for his autoerotic explorations. He froze, unsure whether he would be able to let go of his self-consciousness and anxiety enough to get himself off while Vince watched.

“C’mon, Howard, let me see you get yourself off,” Vince breathed, trailing a fingertip up Howard’s thigh. It was damp with lube and Vince’s semen, and Vince felt a thrill at the knowledge that Howard was so full of his cum that he was  _ leaking _ with it. “Please, I want to see you make yourself come, I want to watch you, please...”

Biting his lip, Howard hesitantly closed a hand around his erection, which had wilted somewhat.

“Fuck, that’s so  _ hot _ ,” Vince murmured so low that Howard felt his voice more than heard it. His cock seemed to have none of Howard’s reticence, and it swelled in his hand, stiff and hot as ever. Howard stroked a few times; the soft slap of his foreskin covering and uncovering the head of his prick sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room, though he was encouraged by Vince’s sudden, sharp intake of breath when he began to stroke himself in earnest. “Yeah, let me see you get off, Howard, please...”

Howard closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of Vince’s voice, rough with need and desire despite the fact that he’d just come--the wet feeling between his legs proof that he’d come inside of  _ Howard _ . The thought made him thrust his hips forward, pushing his cock into his hand, while Vince continued to tease at Howard’s stretched, still-wet hole with a fingertip. Red from the friction of having been recently fucked, the muscle yielded easily, its earlier resistance gone; Vince added another, watching intently as his fingers disappeared into Howard’s body with a soft squishing sound. He pulled his fingers all the way out, then shoved them in harshly, watching a trail of his cum dribble from Howard’s anus down his thigh. “You’re so  _ loose,” _ Vince breathed, watching transfixed as his fingers dipped in and out. 

A half-choked moan escaped Howard before he could stop it. A part of him thought that he should be embarrassed by Vince’s words, but something in him thrilled with the idea that Vince had fucked him open, his tight muscles gone slack from having had Vince inside him. Howard was struck by the brief and vivid fantasy of being so often and so well fucked that Vince could have him whenever he wanted; Vince could slip inside him easily, they wouldn’t even have to bother with the prep... His hand tightened around his cock, a bead of precum dribbling down the head from Vince’s filthy words and the filthy images they conjured in Howard’s head. “You did that to me, with your f-fingers, and your--c-cock,” Howard whispered, tongue tripping a bit on the dirty words.

Vince moaned, low and loud. “Say it again, Howard,” he begged. “Tell me how I opened you up for me...”

“You... you f-fucked me, with your fingers and your cock,” Howard repeated. Vince rewarded his obedience by giving him another finger, angling his hand to press against Howard’s prostate.

Howard’s response was even more delicious than Vince had been expecting. His thighs trembled, his breath caught in his throat around an animalistic groan, and with a full-body shudder, he came spectacularly, years of tension and pent-up longing released at last. 

Vince continued to milk Howard long after the initial orgasm had ended, rubbing and massaging at Howard’s prostate to coax another spurt of cum to spill from the head of his penis, another, another, until it was just a trickle... Just when Vince had begun to think Howard was finished, he threw his head back sharply, his curls whipping against Vince’s chest with the force of it, his cock wetting their hands and the sheets with another flood of semen. Vince had never seen so much cum at once, and he was exhilarated and not a little bit proud at having been the one to give Howard so much pleasure.

Howard had never come so hard or so long in his entire life. Orgasms, he thought (or would have had he been capable of forming words), were  _ much  _ more satisfying when one had something up one’s arse. He was beginning to suspect that perhaps Tony Harrison and the rest of the Shaman Council may have been on to something when they’d called him “a right bottom bitch”, but instead of feeling emasculated and ashamed, he felt  _ empowered. _ There was something empowering, surely, about giving yourself over to your pleasure so completely, about using your own pleasure to give someone  _ else _ pleasure the way he’d been able to do with Vince. 

A warm weight settled over him, stroking his hair softly. Howard nuzzled into the touch, moaning softly when Vince’s nails began to skritch softy at his scalp. “You like that, don’t you?” Vince whispered into his ear.

“Yeah,” Howard said, grinning widely. “Yeah, I liked it.” The words sounded so weird, so carefree, that Howard couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oi!” Vince said, gently slapping Howard’s flank. “None of that, you hear? Bumming’s serious business, no laughing matter, that!”

Howard could only laugh harder, which confused Vince. He’d expected Howard’s first time making love to be a serious matter--after all, Howard had gone nearly 34 years clinging to his supposed virginity, 34 years without experiencing consensual, pleasurable sex with someone he loved and who loved him back. Vince had been prepared for tearful, heartfelt declarations of love, soppy words, and sobs. Laughing was about the last thing he’d expected Howard to do in the afterglow of his very first experience of lovemaking. 

Yet regardless of how unexpected Howard’s laughter had been, perhaps, Vince thought, it was  _ right _ . Certainly none of Howard’s past sexual experiences had ever been a laughing matter--no, they’d caused weeks of trauma, sadness showers, and sighing into the distance. And besides, Howard looked beautiful when he laughed--his eyes crinkled up so small they were barely visible, and his entire face crinkled with laugh lines. Vince smiled and kissed him, then lay his head on Howard’s heaving chest, listening to his laughter echo inside his body until it died out and the two men held each other close in the stillness. The room reeked of sex and sweat, and they with both filthy with it, but neither Howard nor Vince rushed to clean themselves up, choosing instead to linger together in the aftermath.

Vince was nearly asleep when he felt a definite jab from beneath the taut skin of Howard’s stomach. Howard’s sharp inhale confirmed the movement. “Well, one of us is awake,” Vince said sleepily. 

Howard flushed. He knew Cassie was there inside him but it didn’t make it any less awkward, having their daughter in the bedroom after  _ that.  _

“Don’t be embarrassed, Howard,” Vince said, nuzzling into his shoulder. “At least she knows her parents love each other.” 

Howard supposed he couldn’t argue with that. He slung an arm around Vince’s shoulder, pulling him close, savoring the knowledge that he was part of a proper family now, man and wife and alien. Some might have said it was weird, but Howard knew that sometimes weird could be wonderful. Besides, neither he nor Vince could ever have settled for normal. They were two extraordinary men who’d experienced many extraordinary things, and in ten short weeks, they would be joined by their extraordinary daughter. Howard couldn’t wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, we know we keep saying everyone gets off harder the longer you make them wait, and 80000 words later, we hope it was worth it! Comment and kudos to let us know ;)


	24. Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some angst, some fluff, some party plans, and some skillful dodging of necessary-yet-uncomfortable conversations.

The weeks passed in a whirlwind of happiness and sex. Howard could hardly believe that this was his life: eight months ago, he’d been a pathetic almost-virgin working a minimum-wage job who’d spent most of his life pining after his best friend, sure that he would die alone and penniless without anyone to mourn his legacy. Now, he was the recipient of a rather generous paternity suit, in a committed relationship with said best friend, pregnant with a little half-alien baby girl, and in eight short weeks, his family would be complete.

Needless to say, Howard rarely thought about dying anymore--for the first time in his life, he had something to live for. When he’d discovered that he’d been impregnated by the aliens who abducted him, he’d thought his life was ending. In hindsight, his life was just beginning, and though Howard was still anxious about the future, it was more of an anxious anticipation than anything else.

He smiled to himself, making room on the crowded bookcase in the nursery for the small stack of baby books he’d purchased on the premise that they were well educational. It was never too early to teach Cassie her ABCs and 123s, though Vince would have argued otherwise, insisting that children learned their most important life lessons from life experience, and those life experiences ought to, for maximum effectiveness, take place in a jungle. When Howard would point out to him that the nearest jungle was thousands of miles away, Vince never failed to remind him that that was what all the stuffed animals were for.

At the mere thought of Vince, Howard’s pants grew tight. It was becoming more and more impossible to think of Vince without thinking about sex--Howard let his mind wander, remembering that morning, how that Vince had arranged him on all fours and put his wicked mouth  _ there _ , thus introducing Howard to the joys of rimming. And it had been joyful, indeed...

Howard flushed, sneakily rearranging his bits to make his erection a bit less obvious before he headed down to the shop to see if he could convince Vince to take lunch early, and perhaps do  _ that _ again. Maybe he’d even lay Vince out on their new queen-sized mattress and try it for himself... He straightened and headed down the stairs, filled with resolve to seduce Vince away from the shop for the afternoon.

Downstairs, Vince was busy modeling a stack of vintage blouses for a small crowd of infatuated-looking young women. When he noticed Howard standing by the shop door, he paused his impromptu fashion show to blow Howard a kiss. The girls’ heads turned to see the recipient of the kiss, visibly recoiling when they realized it was  _ Howard _ . They whispered amongst themselves as Vince changed into another blouse, no doubt wondering what someone like Vince was doing with someone like  _ Howard _ .    


Before, this would have sent Howard into a jealous fugue or a self-loathing strop, but now, now that Vince was  _ his _ , Howard only grinned. He preened under Vince’s public affection, pride swelling within him. He’d never felt that particular sensation in regards to himself--he’d been proud of his work, proud of Vince when he made reasonable decisions, proud of Cassie even though she hadn’t been born yet. But he’d never been proud of himself for simply being who he was, and certainly not for his physical appearance. Knowing that Vince found him desirable had bolstered his self-image considerably. 

While Vince continued his fashion show, the girls nattering on and fawning over Vince’s impeccable taste, Howard made his way to the back of the shop, opening the door to the alley to get some fresh air. He’d been feeling a bit restless lately, considering that he barely left the flat anymore except to show up for his shifts at the Nabootique, mostly because it gave him something to do. Whenever he was out in public, people stared; some snickered behind their hands, some whispered behind his back, some were outright  _ rude.  _ But Howard wanted to continue working, as he was desperate to feel some sense of purpose other than “baby grower”. 

That was why he’d also started puttering around out back the Nabootique. At first, Howard had spent time out there as a way to get fresh air without the risk of being seen, but soon, he’d begun fixing up the alley, turning it into a little garden. He worked slowly, bending carefully to remove old, cracked stepping stones and replacing them with new ones to create a small patio, sweeping up the rubbish, and raking out the long-neglected flower beds. He’d even had Vince help set him up a work table where he could repot old, dying plants. Vince had teased him kindheartedly, calling him “Bringer of Life,” but Howard quite liked the nickname. He  _ was  _ the Bringer of Life, of Cassie’s  _ and  _ of the choked, dried out, withering plants outside. Nurturing the yellowed leaves back to health warmed Howard and gave him a sense of fulfillment, their full, waxy, green leaves and burgeoning buds a testament to his ability to care and grow and help things thrive. 

Back in the shop, Vince rang up the girls’ purchases. One of the girls, a well fit blonde with an edgy haircut and pink streaks, chatted him up a bit as he bagged the clothes she’d bought.

“Oh, I can’t wait to wear this for the Seventies Swinger’s party at the Velvet Onion on Friday!” she chirped. “We’ll be the best-dressed group there, all thanks to you!” She batted her eyes and cuffed Vince’s shoulder flirtatiously. 

“Glad to help,” Vince said, handing her her bag. “Remember, that suede vest is spot clean only.”

The girl closed her hand around Vince’s on the handle of the bag, clinging. “You’ll be there, won’t you?”

Vince tried to extricate himself from her grip subtly as possible. “Dunno,” he shrugged.

“Oh, but you  _ have _ to come!” the girl trilled. “You used to be at all the coolest parties! We never see you out at the clubs anymore.”

Vince shrugged again. “Haven’t been out much lately,” he admitted. “My Howard’s got a nipper on the way. Babies are a lot of work, even before they’re born!”

The girl’s upper lip curled maliciously. “Your Howard?” she asked icily. “You mean that fat bloke with the moustache?”

“Oi, Howard’s not fat!” Vince protested. Anger flared in the pit of his stomach. “I told you, he’s  _ pregnant _ .”

The girl looked appalled. “That’s  _ weird _ ,” she said. “So  _ he’s _ the reason you don’t come out anymore? Why would you want to stay at home with  _ that _ ?”

“Howard’s not weird!” Vince shouted, eager to defend his lover from the girl’s derision. “Well, maybe he  _ is _ weird, but he’s also  _ wonderful! _ He plays all kinds of instruments, he’s an amazing cook,  _ and _ he’s growing my daughter in his belly! My Howard doesn’t need pink hair to be sexy and cool, he does it on his own just fine.” 

The girl clutched her purchases to her chest, looking positively apoplectic. “My hair is well cool! Better than yours. When was the last time you had a haircut? You used to be the Prince of Camden, but you’ve really let yourself go lately. You and  _ Howard _ deserve each other.” She nodded to her friends, and the three women stormed out of the shop. “Have fun staying home with your weird pregnant boyfriend while we’re out partying!”

Vince’s heart was racing, his hands clutched into fists, so angry he could cry. “Daft bird,” he muttered, kicking at the rubbish bin in an attempt to burn off some of his frustration. He locked the door of the shop, not in the mood to face any more customers today, and headed to the little alley garden behind the Nabootique to find Howard. Howard would know how to make him feel better...

Howard was sitting on the bench, his hands full of potting soil as he hummed a jaunty, jazzy tune to his plants. Vince paused, just watching his lover contentedly putter with his plants. He’d never admit it, but Vince found the whole thing so endearing it nearly burst his overflowing heart. Seeing Howard so happy and, for the first time in their entire lives, free of the stress and anxiety that had long plagued him, made Vince ecstatic.  _ I’d work three jobs to always have Howard this happy,  _ he thought to himself, which was quite an admission from Vince who, at any given time, could barely hold down one. Luckily, if Saboo and Tony Harrison were doing their jobs, he and Howard would never have to work a day in their lives ever again. 

Until that happy day, Howard and Vince would take turns working in the shop, and spend their off-time preparing for Cassie’s ever-more-imminent arrival. 

On quiet feet, Vince sidled up behind Howard, resting his chin on Howard’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around Howard’s round belly. Startled, Howard jumped, almost dropping the potted plant in his hand, but calmed immediately when he realized it was just Vince.

Vince looked... sad, his blue eyes stormy and downcast instead of shining with laughter and bad ideas. Howard kissed him on the top of his head, taking a deep breath and smelling the fruity, familiar scent of Vince’s hair product. “You all right there, little man?” he asked, voice full of concern.

Vince sniffled and nuzzled Howard’s shoulder. “Those girls was  _ idiots _ ,” he grumbled sadly, and Howard shifted over to make room and yanked Vince to sit beside him on the bench.

Vince would have laid his head in Howard’s lap had said lap not already been taken by Cassie, so he rested his head on the swell of Howard’s bump. Howard ruffled his hair soothingly. “Come now, what happened?”

“Ugh,” Vince huffed, “the blonde one was  _ well _ rude. Invited me out to a party, and wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer! And then when I told her that I wasn’t going out that much anymore because we were expecting a baby, she called you  _ weird _ . Only  _ I’m _ allowed to call you weird, but that’s because I love you, you big weirdo!” Vince had gotten all worked up again just telling Howard about it.

Howard kept stroking Vince’s hair. “What happened after that?”

“Well,” Vince admitted, “I tried to tell her about how wonderful you are, but she didn’t get it! So I told her her hair was stupid, and then she told me my hair was stupid.... You don’t think my hair is stupid, do you, Howard? Should I get a haircut?”

Howard ran his hands through Vince’s hair. It was true that Vince’s hair was a bit less voluminous than usual, as he’d given up the backcombing and Goth Juice for a style that Howard could play with without getting himself stuck in Vince’s barnet. He pressed a kiss to Vince’s fringe, which was, Howard had to admit, getting a bit long. “I love your hair--it’s probably the second-most beautiful thing about you, after your eyes. It  _ is _ getting a bit long--” (here Vince shot up in a panic, causing Howard to soften his critique) “but I like you with long hair. Could do with a bit of a trim on your fringe, though--I miss being able to see your beautiful blue eyes.”

A small grin tugged at Vince’s mouth--he did love to be flattered--but his eyes remained sad. 

“I just don’t get it,” Vince said, wrapping himself around Howard like a clinging octopus. 

“Get what?” Howard asked.

Vince made a face into Howard’s neck. “I just don’t understand how people can look at you and not see what I see. How can they all be so blind to how  _ amazing _ you are?”

Howard chuckled darkly to himself. “I used to think the same thing about you, you know,” he admitted, voice low. “How could people only look at you and see stylish hair and fancy clothes? How were they so blind to everything else about you?”

“I’m like a beach ball, Howard, you know that.” 

“No, sir,” said Howard, sitting Vince up to look him in the eye. “No,, you’re not. You’re caring and kind, you have fears and sadnesses and dreams, perhaps more so than even the most complicated people. You’re fearless and fiercely protective, and you play dumb but you pick up more than you let on. It always frustrated me that people would look at you and see only a pretty face…” He stroked the back of his hand down Vince’s cheek, and Vince captured it in his own and brought it to his lips for a kiss. Howard wasn’t lying--he used to hate that Vince would go out, primped and preened like a show horse, then come home smelling of cheap alcohol and even cheaper sex. He’d hated that anyone would use Vince that way when he clearly deserved so much more. 

“But you  _ do _ think I’m pretty, right?” asked Vince cheekily. Howard chuckled again and leaned in to kiss him. 

“The prettiest. Don’t let those daft girls get to you. Are you happy?”

Vince nodded enthusiastically, like a small child. “Happier’n I’ve been in ages,” admitted Vince. 

“Then keep doing what you’re doing, and anyone who doesn’t understand can piss right off.” Vince nodded, his eyes still a little sad, but he seemed cheered up enough that Howard felt he had done his job. “Now give me a hand, little man, and help me move this urn a little further back...”

The fact that Vince didn’t complain about getting potting soil on his clothing (well, not  _ that _ much) was testament to how much his priorities had changed. Making Howard and Cassie happy was bound to be messy work at times, but Vince found he didn’t much mind, as long as Howard was there with him, messy and happy, too. 

One evening, after having whiled away the afternoon in his alley garden, Howard ascended the stairs, brushing the dirt off his trousers as he entered the flat. As he was washing the dirt off his hands in the kitchen sink, he heard Vince moving about frantically in the nursery. Howard turned off the water, wiped his hands on his trousers, and walked down the hall, freezing in the doorway of the nursery as he took in the scene before him.

He’d expected to see Vince at his sewing machine, floating in a sea of sequins and gossamer. Vince, however, was darting about the room with a clipboard, surrounded by stacks of pink and black cocktail napkins, envelopes, bags of balloons, streamers, and disposable dinnerware. All of it matched flawlessly. At Vince’s booted feet, photographs of elaborate cakes were strewn about. To Howard’s untrained eyes, they looked like wedding cakes. 

The mere sight of party supplies made Howard break into a cold, anxious sweat. 

“Vince,” he called from the door. “Please. Please tell me this isn’t--”

“Baby shower,” answered Vince, a giant sunshine smile breaking across his face. 

“Um, Vince... exactly how many people are you inviting?” Howard asked as he wrung his hands nervously. 

Vince stood, hands on hips, looking disgruntled. “Howard,” he whined, “you  _ said  _ we could have a baby shower. You  _ promised.”  _

“Yes, but I consented to a baby shower, not a baby  _ gala, _ ” replied Howard. 

Vince rolled his eyes. “I’m the Prince of Camden,” he said, gesturing at himself. “Which makes my daughter the Princess, and as a princess, Cassie deserves a killer baby shower,” he said nodding, as if this was the most logical conclusion in the world. 

“All right, calm down, Your Highness,” said Howard, daring to walk in and look at what Vince had done so far. “What’s all this?” 

Vince smiled again. “Well, I thought about doing gold and white. It’s classic, simple, and elegant. Then I heard one of the royals just did it and that’s well gross, so that was out. Then I thought green, since it’s gender-neutral, but then I thought it might seem insensitive given Cassie’s heritage, so I binned that idea right quick. I didn’t want to do pink, it’s so cliched and heteronormative,” Vince rolled his eyes. Howard was surprised that Vince knew and correctly used such a large word. “But then,” Vince continued, “I thought, we could add black! Give it a bit of an edge, a little high-fashion, a little punk, a little badass.” 

“For a baby shower?” said Howard, a smirk tugging his lips. 

“She’s half-Uranian, her father’s the only biologically male earth human to get pregnant and give birth,  _ and _ she’s heir to the throne of Camden. Not to mention her coterie of Shaman fairy godfathers. Of  _ course _ she’s a badass.” 

Put like that, Howard wouldn’t argue. They were all valid points. His chest puffed with pride, both with the fact that while all parents thought their child was special, his truly was, and the fact that Vince acknowledged this and planned a party around it. “Very well, love,” he said, drawing Vince in and placing a kiss atop his head. “Carry on.” 

Vince stared up at Howard, worship and adoration clear in his wide eyes. “Say that again,” he begged quietly. 

“What, carry on?”

“No, you idiot. Call me ‘love’ again.” 

“As you wish, love,” Howard said, voice low. Vince whimpered in the back of his throat, and stood on his toes to reach Howard’s lips, capturing them in a heated kiss. He caressed Howard’s stomach, hands dipping lower, until they disappeared beneath the waistband and Vince’s wandering hands found what they sought. “Fancy a break from party planning?” Howard whispered. 

Vince nodded up at him, eyes still aglow with worship. Wordlessly, he dragged Howard by the arm to their bedroom, all thoughts of cakes and decorations momentarily forgotten. 

Vince in party-planning mode was not easily deterred, however. He’d sent out close to one hundred invitations to the entirety of Camden town, and followed them up with e-vites and social media notices. He expected this to be the party of the century, even bigger than the party which had ended with Howard’s fateful journey to space. 

His dismay, then, was palpable when a week had passed and only three RSVP’s had returned in the positive. 

Never one to sit still and brood (that was Howard’s schtick), he paced the flat nibbling his fingernails to the quick, anxious and upset. He double-checked his “sent email” folder, just to be sure they’d all gone out. He thought about contacting the post office in a fit of pique because  _ clearly  _ the invitations hadn’t been delivered properly. Vince, who ate like a bird at the best times, completely ignored his food, pushing it around on the plate. This more than anything else upset Howard, whose nurture-and-nesting instincts had kicked into overdrive. 

“Little Man, you have to eat something. Please,” Howard pleaded, voice even. 

“I can’t eat at a time like this!” Vince countered shrilly. 

“A time like what, Thursday evening?”

“My entire social identity is at stake here, Howard,” Vince whined. “What if nobody comes to Cassie’s party? What if… what if they’ve all forgotten about me?”

Howard had been expecting this. They’d touched on it briefly the night Vince had come home early from clubbing, and again that day in the garden, but they had yet to confront it head-on. While Howard had realized a long time ago that Vince would eventually have to choose between being “Vince Noir, Cassie’s Dad,” and “Vince Noir, Rock n Roll Star”, it seemed that Vince had yet to come to the realization himself. The two weren’t mutually exclusive, per se, but being a parent was a full time responsibility, one that Vince had taken to like a narwhal to cold water. Parenting, especially during the first three years of a child’s life, left little time for a social life, let alone one as busy as Vince’s. Howard knew that Vince would have to face the unpleasant reality of life out of the spotlight eventually. He just hadn’t thought it would happen so soon, before Cassie was even born. 

Howard sat, drumming his fingertips on the tabletop anxiously as he considered his options. Should he confront Vince directly about the toll parenting would take on his social life? The mere idea of doing so made Howard cringe. Vince had always had big emotions; the more he cared about something, the bigger his feelings. He was sure to go into a full-on strop, and Howard was loathe to disrupt the blissful peacefulness of the last few weeks for anything.

“It’s still early days, Vince,” Howard said, trying to sound calm and placating. “You’ve got a full week before the RSVP date, you may well end up with loads more responses before then.” Taking the coward’s way out, Howard stood and placed his hands on Vince’s shoulders, starting an easy massage. “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you, love,” he said, voice low as he pressed a kiss to the top of Vince’s head. Predictably, Vince turned in his seat and dragged Howard down for a good snogging, all thoughts of his social status and baby shower decorations momentarily forgotten. It didn’t take long before Vince was nudging Howard down the hall to their bedroom, his hands still buried in Howard’s long, wavy hair, careful not to pull too much and ruin Howard’s excellent pregnancy hair.

  
Afterwards, Howard lay awake in bed, idly running his fingers through Vince’s hair as the other man slept. He felt a bit guilty for distracting Vince with sex (although said sex  _ was _ highly enjoyable) when they’d been on the cusp of an important conversation. Howard pressed a kiss to Vince’s temple, watching the way Vince’s furrowed brow relaxed in his sleep as he did so, and Howard resolved that the next time the subject came up he’d deal with it head-on like a man. Vince was too precious to risk losing, Howard knew, and he rested his head on Vince’s chest, listening to the steady  _ thud _ of his heart, and tried to leave that worry aside for another day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, we want to give a massive shout out to our Beta Extraordinaire, [A_Little_Boosh_Maid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid). If you need a Boosh fix and haven't read their stuff, do yourself a favor and go do so! THANK YOU, LBM!


	25. Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s scrapbook night at the flat! While Vince and Howard work hard on a scrapbook for their yet-unborn daughter, Naboo gets reflective about how much his tenants have grown over the last few months. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to A_Little_Boosh_Maid for the beta and Britpicking!

It was Scrapbook Night at the flat, because Vince had ordained it so. He’d gone out earlier and stocked up on plenty of beer and takeaway, and at Howard’s request had picked up fresh Pritt sticks, photo-safe tape, and an assortment of scrapbooking papers. Together, he, Howard, Naboo, and Bollo were putting together a scrapbook to memorialize Howard’s pregnancy, so that he and Howard would never forget what had brought them together, and so Cassie would know how much she was loved even before she was born. 

Vince couldn’t wait. He had a bubbly, excited feeling in his stomach like he always did when he was working on something artistic. Couple that with the fact that tonight’s project would focus on his two favorite people, Howard and Cassie, and he was practically off his tits on happiness. 

Vince made his way from the bedroom into the main room, carrying a box of ephemera to donate to the scrapbook, holding it carefully as though it were full of water and he didn’t want to spill it. 

“What’s in the box, Little Man?” Howard had asked casually. 

Vince shrugged. “Just some things for the book, nothing much, really.” He still wouldn’t set down the box. Eventually, Howard had heaved himself off the sofa to take a closer look. Vince let him, but still didn’t relinquish his hold on the box. 

Howard was shocked by what he saw inside, but not unpleasantly so. A copy of the picture of Cassie’s scan was first and foremost, as though Vince had handled it recently--and frequently. Beneath that were paint samples Howard recognized from the nursery. Little scribblings of Wild Things on napkins and the backs of envelopes made up the next stratum. Next came the receipts for the baby-proofing items Vince had bought, and a few other baby items they had purchased. Design sketches of little tiny dresses and jumpsuits with fabric samples stapled on, little drawings of Howard labelled with things like “Howard 6 months, feeling better,” and “Howard having trouble sleeping, 4 months”, were also scattered in the box. Howard would have been appalled to find a single dark brown lock of curly hair in the bottom of the box if he wasn’t so charmed by the whole thing.  _ The Midnight Barber strikes again,  _ he thought, almost fondly.

“Have you been keeping all this, Vince?” he asked, his voice soft. 

Vince clutched the box back closer to himself, eyes darting up to meet Howard’s. “Yeah, well… this is my family stuff, yeah? Never had anyone to keep things for, and now that I do I want to do it proper.” 

Howard’s heart clenched at the words, and he was so overcome with affection for Vince,  _ his  _ beautiful Vince, that he kissed him right there in front of Naboo and Bollo and God and everyone. 

Naboo gagged. “Me ‘n Bollo have eyes! We’re not gonna stick around if this turns into some kind of primitive mating ritual,” he said. 

Bollo wiped away a tear. “Poor Vince, Harold ruin innocence...”

“If anything,” Howard griped, “Vince stole  _ my _ innocence. I was practically a virgin before we got together, you know...”

“Ugh, enough with that virginity shite,” Naboo snapped. “We all know you’re some kind of freaky sex pervert, Howard.”

“I have no complaints,” Vince said, grinning brightly.

Naboo threw a stack of fancy paper at him, causing Vince to shout about the danger of disfigurement by papercut. 

“Please,” said Howard, his voice the epitome of exhausted long-suffering. “I’m trying to write a poem for my unborn daughter and your antics are detracting from my creative integrity.” 

“Sorry, Howard,” said Vince. “Here, drink some more Celestial Dreams tea.” 

“I don’t  _ want  _ tea,” said Howard gruffly, eyeing Vince’s beer none-too-subtly. The condensation was running down the neck of the bottle in a way that was positively seductive, especially to a man who’d abstained for nearly nine months. 

“No, absolutely not,” said Vince. “I did reading, and--”

“Oh, stop, Vince. I won’t drink til after she’s born. Not if you and Naboo don’t drive me to it,” he grumbled as he choked down a mouthful of watery greenish tea. “This is a blight against humanity,” he muttered to himself. 

“I’ve had celestial dreams,” offered Naboo, who seemed to be confused about the meaning behind the name of the tea. “Not usually brought on by tea, though. If you want  _ really  _ celestial dreams, try mixing magic mushrooms and ketamine...”

Unfortunately for Naboo, no one seemed to be listening to his words of wisdom. Howard and Vince were busying themselves with flirting and generally being sappy with one another, while Bollo, who had a Pritt stick halfway up his nostril, was trying to huff some glue. Naboo followed his familiar’s example, but try as he might, the glue didn’t seem to do anything to alter his consciousness.

Naboo frowned at the offending Pritt stick. “I think there’s something wrong with your glue, Howard.”

“Oh, is it dried up? Not sticking?” Howard asked anxiously.

“No, it’s sticking fine,” Naboo said. “But I can’t seem to get high off it... I keep sniffing it, but nothing happens...”

Howard’s face was red. “That’s because it’s  _ non _ -toxic.”

“Ugh, what’s the point of non-toxic glue?” Naboo griped. “C’mon Bollo, let’s check out the paint. Maybe there’s something worth huffing in there.”

“Do not abuse the stationery!” Howard yelled, already regretting his decision to invite Naboo and Bollo to scrapbook night. 

Ever the peacemaker, Vince intervened. “C’mon guys, we got you plenty of beer. Why don’t you abuse that instead?”

“Fine,” Naboo sighed, then defiantly chugged two beers in a row, just to get a bit of a buzz going.

For a few blissful minutes, the only sounds were pens scrawling on paper, scissors, tape being placed, and the telly low in the background. Howard was penning poetic masterpieces for Cassie, Bollo was still trying to sniff the non-toxic glue, Naboo sat drinking and pondering shamanistically, while Vince artfully arranged the few grainy cell phone photos he’d managed to sneak of Howard’s pregnancy journey (one of the rooftop labeled, “It happened here,” a fuzzy one of Saboo and Tony Harrison titled “our legal counsel,” and a couple of paparazzi-style photos of Howard around the flat with “5 months” or “Howard” scrawled beneath them). 

Vince rummaged in the box of scrapbooking supplies to unearth a bulky, retro-looking camera he’d borrowed from Leroy with the intention of taking some actually decent pictures of his pregnant lover. Sneaking a peek at Howard to make sure he wasn’t looking (he wasn’t, too busy concentrating on the poem he was writing for his daughter to pay much mind to Vince’s furtive fumblings), Vince shoved the camera behind his chair for easy access. The shameful quality of the few photos Vince had managed to grab during Howard’s pregnancy journey thus far had inspired Vince to borrow Leroy’s Polaroid. After pasting the few low quality pictures into the book, Vince snuck the camera out from where he’d stashed it. “Hey, Howard!” he said, and snapped the camera as soon as Howard looked at him. 

Blinded by the flash, Howard blinked and grimaced. “Vince, what the  _ hell  _ are you doing?”

“Taking pictures for the scrapbook,” he answered happily, shaking the picture in the air to speed along its development. 

“Where’d you get that?” asked Howard, still trying to blink away the blotches in his vision. 

“Borrowed it off Leroy,” Vince shrugged. “Hey, Howard, stand up. I want to get one of you looking pregnant.” In his mind, Vince had wanted a really glamorous, really beautiful, and artistic maternity shoot for Howard (something with gauze and flowers and a fog machine, maybe a swing), but he knew that Howard would never go for that. If he managed to snap a few Polaroids, that would be a win in his book. 

To his shock, Howard stood and said, “What should I do? Just stand here?” 

Vince gaped. He’d never been one for planning ahead, not much anyway, but he’d expected at least a four-prong argument in order to get Howard to pose for the pictures. Of all the outcomes he’d thought of, exactly  _ none _ of them were total acquiescence. “Ummm...” he hummed, trying to collect his bearings enough to direct his lover during the photo shoot.

Howard puffed his belly out like a pregnant seahorse. 

“Not like  _ that _ ,” Vince groused. “Try standing up straighter. Oh, and pull your shirt up so everyone can see your bump!”

Normally, Howard would have been self-conscious about posing with his belly out, but Vince’s frequent and vocal appreciation for his pregnancy body had bolstered his confidence. His shirt rucked up to expose his big belly, Howard let Vince direct him. It took a few minutes, and a few wasted Polaroids, but gradually he began to relax in front of the camera. Naboo watched the whole thing with interest.

Of course Naboo was used to seeing his flatmates interact. Vince and Howard orbited each other so closely, however, that Naboo rarely was able to get close enough to  _ really _ see them. Not that he especially wanted to, but even someone as sarcastic and appalled by human nature as Naboo had to admit to a certain fascination at the way Vince and Howard reacted to each other. 

Vince nattered on the whole time, directing Howard to pose in certain positions, pointing out his lover’s best features and angles. He lavished praise on Howard, who preened beneath Vince’s words and loosened up, even  _ enjoying  _ the process. 

The stack of pictures in varying stages of development grew until Vince looked down at the camera, twisting his mouth in displeasure. “Last one,” he said to Howard sadly. He’d been having so much fun, watching Howard strike poses and bossing him around a bit. Howard had seemed like he was having fun, too--confident and smiling, in the way Vince loved best. Howard hadn’t disparaged his looks  _ once  _ the entire time they were taking pictures, and Vince felt his heart swell with pride at how Howard’s confidence had thrived since they’d gotten together. 

“Naboo,” said Howard, “take one with both of us, will you?”

Naboo reached a tentative hand out to accept the camera Vince was offering him, too affected by what he’d witnessed to even say something sarcastic about it. After a quick explanation of what the various buttons and dials on the bulky, vintage camera body did, Naboo squinted into the viewfinder.

It took a minute, but eventually Naboo figured out how to focus the lens. As the blurry shapes came into focus, they sharpened into Vince, who was looking up at Howard with naked admiration, and Howard, who was looking down at Vince with a soft, fond expression in his eyes. The instant that Vince opened his mouth to say something to Howard, Naboo hit the shutter.

The picture, once developed, was probably the only unflattering picture of Vince Noir in existence. His mouth was opened in an unflattering expression, and the angle was all wrong--somehow his nose looked longer and his chin even pointier than in real life. And his hair--his hair didn’t even bear describing. 

But Vince, who, prior to embarking on the journey of self-discovery that culminated in him becoming Howard’s lover and father to his half-alien spawn, would have immediately stomped his feet and demanded that any evidence of himself looking less-than-perfect be immediately destroyed, simply plucked the polaroid from between Naboo’s fingers.

Naboo braced himself for a tantrum that never came. Vince laughed, throwing his head back, and gave the picture to Howard. “Put it in,” he said between cackles. 

Howard looked at the photograph for a moment, his brow creased with confusion. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yeah, ’course I’m sure,” Vince said, impatient. “Why you askin’?”

“It’s just, er, well...” Howard floundered.

Naboo took pity on the man and jumped into the conversation. “You look like shit in that photo, Vince,” Naboo pointed out helpfully.

Now it was Vince’s turn to scrutinize the photograph. “Hmm, it’s not one of my most flattering angles,” Vince hummed, “but Howard looks really good here, doesn’t he?”

Howard, Naboo, and Bollo crowded around to take a closer look. Indeed, Howard looked  _ quite _ good. He had an open, relaxed expression on his face, his small, brown eyes shining with mirth and happiness. And his hair, which curled  _ just so _ against his cheekbone and chin to accentuate his classically-handsome bone structure, had gone warm and reddish, almost chestnut-colored, from the flash. Even his moustache looked good, thick and well-shaped, which, Naboo mused, was just  _ wrong _ \--moustaches weren’t meant to look  _ good _ , they were meant to look creepy…

Maybe he was a little drunk, or maybe he wasn’t nearly drunk enough, but the entire last ten minutes had thrown Naboo completely off his usual apathetic axis. Seeing how  _ different  _ his tenants were, how much they’d changed and grown in the last eight months, almost sparked an emotion within the tiny shaman. 

Well,  _ almost _ . Naboo was still a member of the Shaman Council; he had his dignity to consider. “You know,” he said hesitantly as he watched his flatmates fawn over each other while pasting the contentious Polaroid into their scrapbook. “You two’re much less awful together than you are apart.”

“You really think so?” Vince asked, looking slightly awed at Naboo’s almost-compliment.

“Well,  _ yeah _ .” Naboo took a deep draught of his beer, then belched. “You two bring out the best in each other. Not that there’s much, but still...” The two men lit up and began  _ touching _ each other, making Naboo cringe. He should have known better than to drink that sixth beer... Beer always made him sappy, too truthful and earnest by far. He much preferred hard alcohol, which at least made him black out and forget any accidental tender moments caused by excessive drunkenness. 

Of course, Bollo decided to join the lovefest at that exact moment. “Harold make Vince happy,” Bollo added. “Bollo not understand why, but Bollo happy when Vince happy.”

Howard choked back tears (would he ever stop being so emotional?) while Vince broke into a wide grin. “Cheers, Naboo, Bollo,” he said happily, as though this wasn’t a terrifically momentous occasion in their shared household. Howard moved to embrace Naboo, who ducked away in terror. 

“No, no. Absolutely not.” Naboo cast an eye around the tiny living room for an escape route. When nothing obvious revealed itself, he asked, “Are we done here?”

“Think so,” said Vince cheerfully. 

“Good,” Naboo sighed, relieved. “Come on, Bollo. We’re going to get properly shit-faced in the penthouse. Whatever you two disgusting bellends get up to, keep it down, yeah?” Naboo and Bollo exited the main room and made their way up the stairs to the former attic and current shamanic penthouse. 

Vince sat on the sofa next to Howard and snuggled up into him, relishing his warmth and solidness and comforting smell. Together, they flipped through the scrapbook they’d put together. Unspoken between them hung the hope and the promise that it would be the first of many they’d put together chronicling their lives as a family for their daughter Cassie. 


	26. Twenty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the day before the baby shower, and Vince has only received 9 RSVPs! What’s the former Prince of Camden to do? The things simmering beneath the surface come to a head, but we promise, the resolution is good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to A_Little_Boosh_Maid for the beta!

It was the night before the baby shower, and the flat was in chaos.

Every available surface was covered in black and pink decorations. Vince was currently balancing hazardously on a chair, attempting to hang black and pink streamers from the ceiling, busily cursing his lack of height.

“It’s too bad you’re pregnant and can’t help me with this,” Vince griped. “Your height would really come in handy right about now.” He stood on his tiptoes to affix the streamer to the ceiling with tape, tottering precariously.

On instinct, Howard steadied the chair, already anxiously envisioning Vince toppling and cracking his head open. “Is all this really necessary?” he asked.

“’Course it is!” Vince exclaimed. “Can’t have a proper party without decorations.” He reached up to secure another streamer to the ceiling, wobbling as he did so.

Howard, who had his arms out, ready to catch Vince if he fell, didn’t seem so convinced. All day Vince had been whipped into an absolute frenzy, calling the baker to make sure they had the order correct, decorating every surface of the flat, making sure the supplies for the games were in order, and growing ever more snappish with Howard. Howard figured this was just normal pre-party behavior for Vince, and worried a bit as they hadn’t even gotten to the fashion show portion of the preparations. 

Vince stood atop the chair, hands on his hips, surveying his work. “That corner’s completely empty,” he said, and made to move the chair over. 

Howard looked at the corner in question, noted the seven streamers already hung there, and said, “It’s got pink things on it, isn’t that enough?”

Vince looked at him sharply, eyes venomous. “They’re not just _things_ , Howard, they’re _decorations_ . Everything’s got to be _perfect,_ all right?”

Howard’s annoyance at Vince’s obsessive party planning got the better of him. “What’s gotten into you, Little Man?” he asked, a bit sharply. “This is going to be a great party, regardless of how many streamers are up.”

“It’s got nothing to do with the streamers,” Vince admonished, voice rising angrily.

“Then what does it have to do with?” Howard snapped. 

Vince put his hands on his hips, eyeing Howard with derision, then stormed off to their room. He returned a moment later, a sheet of paper in his hand. “Here,” he said, throwing it on the table so Howard could see. “ _That’s_ our RSVP list. We have nine lousy responses. _That’s_ the problem.” 

Howard read through them. He was happy to note he knew every single person on the list and thought nine was a perfectly good number for a party: intimate, but not awkward, enough people that they could mingle amongst themselves and no one would notice if Howard snuck out for a bit of alone time midway through. “Nine is a good number, Vince,” he said cheerfully. “We wouldn’t want it to be too big and crazy, would we? This is a baby shower, not a Camden orgy.”

“YES,” said Vince emphatically. “We would! This is Cassie’s party--our _daughter,_ Howard! She’s special! She’s literally better than every other baby in Britain, and you think only _nine_ people coming to celebrate her is acceptable? Not to quote Tony Harrison, but it’s an outrage, Howard!” He was working himself into a proper state. 

Howard had the suspicion that Vince’s strop wasn’t about Cassie being snubbed. He turned the guest list over in his hands, letting Vince’s tantrum run its course, certain that sooner or later, Vince would get to the point.

It didn’t take long. “Not only that, I’m the Prince of Camden --or I _was,_ ” Vincee finished lamely. “People should be lining up at the door to get into one of my parties! Guess I got boring and old and unpopular, so what’s even the point?”

It was time. This was the conversation that Howard had known would have to happen at some point: would Vince relinquish his social status in favor of being a stay-at-home dad to Cassie? He’d promised himself he wouldn’t shy away from it when it came around again. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself. “Maybe there’s more to life than being popular, Vince.” 

Vince glared at him, anger chasing sadness across his angular features. “Don’t. Don’t make out like I’m so shallow and stupid, Howard.” 

“I didn’t say you were shallow and stupid,” Howard said patiently. Maybe other people thought so (it wasn’t like Vince did much to convince them otherwise), but Howard had always known that there was more to Vince than he let on. Vince was more than a pretty face and skintight jumpsuits: he was kind and artistic and even though he played at being dim, he had his own particular kind of intelligence, one that allowed him to talk to animals and gave him a surprising amount of insight into the people and world around him. 

“No, but you implied it! Like everyone always does!” 

Anger rose in Howard, but he tried to keep it under control. “Vince--”

It was no use. Vince had already worked himself into a full-on strop. “Don’t patronize me, Howard,” he huffed, stomping a glittery boot-clad foot. “My party’s a disaster and it hasn’t even started yet, I think I’m entitled to be a little upset about that.” 

“No Vince, this isn’t your party. This party is for Cassie,” Howard said, slowly and patiently, trying not to let his frustration with Vince’s tantrum leak into his voice. “You’re acting like a spoiled child at a birthday party who gets upset because no one brought _you_ presents, when it’s not even _your_ birthday.”

Vince glared at the guest list, as if personally offended by the piece of paper. “That’s easy for you to say Howard. You don’t know what it’s like to be popular!”

Howard stared at the list of names. Nine people was, frankly, more than he’d been expecting to show up for his baby shower. “As far as I can tell, nine people RSVP’d to my baby shower. I’m plenty popular.”

“As if nine guests is enough people for a proper party!” Vince huffed.

Howard’s eyes flashed, his earlier resolution to control his anger forgotten. “Well, maybe I’m secure enough in myself that I don’t need a roomful of people to admire me the way you do.”

“It’s perfectly normal to need attention! It’s weird not to want people to pay attention to you! Especially considering that you’re literally the _only_ pregnant man in all of London!” Vince gestured wildly towards the window, as if that entailed “all of London.” 

Howard was used to being called weird. He’d never much been interested in being _normal_ , especially if _normal_ meant dressing in flashy clothing and listening to electronic music. Over the years, he’d begun to take a certain amount of pride in his strangeness, even more so now that he was pregnant with Cassie. “That’s right, sir, I _am_ weird.” If Vince wanted to insult Howard, he’d have to try harder than simply calling Howard weird. “It’s weird for a man to be abducted by aliens. It’s weird for a man to be pregnant, alien baby or no! And--”

“And it’s weird not to know what sex is until you’re 33 years old and then mope in the shower for six weeks straight when you finally realize you’ve been bumming for ages,” Vince spat. 

It was a low blow, the last straw. Howard kicked at the legs of the chair Vince had been using to hang streamers, nearly toppling it with his frustration. “I may not have been a virgin, but I _saved_ myself for you, you crease! What did you save for me?”

Vince’s eyes went hot with angry tears. Howard had more of Vince than anyone else had ever had, much more--how could Howard possibly think that Vince hadn’t saved anything for him? 

“I saved the most important part for you--I ain’t never loved anyone but you.” Vince started pacing the floor like an angry caged beast. “Why do you think Mrs Gideon never remembered you? I told her we were lovers and that if she ever talked to you I’d cut her like a Cockney bitch on a rampage! Or why I told the pencil case girl that you could only get off on having whipped cream put up your arse? And last year, the girl at that party? I knew how you felt about going over the physical boundary with somebody--and I... I didn’t want it to be anyone else but me.” By the end of his impassioned rant, even Vince’s hair looked deflated.

Howard was quiet for a long moment, turning Vince’s words over in his head for a long while before speaking. He truly hadn’t known that Vince had been jealous of his frequent crushes. He’d simply assumed that women weren’t interested in him due to his own shortcomings, not because Vince had actively discouraged them from responding to Howard’s (often pathetically misguided) attempts at flirtation. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice small and soft, all the anger gone out of him.

“Because--because what was I supposed to think, what with you telling me not to touch you all the time? When you fell in love with a different woman every week? When you were giving booty to Fossil--and not to me?” Vince’s voice was high-pitched and strained from fighting back tears. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, feeling exhausted from his confession. Being this honest wasn’t something that came naturally to Vince, unless it was fashion-related.

“I was never in love with those women,” Howard said softly. “I was infatuated with the idea of loving them, but I wanted something _real_ .” He reached out and laced his fingers with Vince’s, giving his lover’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “And I never hated you touching me. I just--I liked it too much. And I hated knowing that you never meant them the way I wanted you to mean them. It was easier never being touched at all.” Vince’s fingers tightened around his own, and Howard took a deep breath. “But that never meant I didn’t _want_ you. My skin cried out for you. And even now that I can touch you, it still does. Only now it’s not just my skin--my heart cries out for you too.”

“Howard,” Vince sniffled, twirling his hair absently with his free hand, “that’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever said to me.” He grinned dopily, anger melted away and replaced with the warm, familiar feeling of adoring affection. “Way better than any of your cream poetry.”

“Perhaps I was limiting myself with all the cream poems,” Howard said, embarrassed. He flushed and blustered. “Howard Moon has hidden depths and cannot be limited to one genre.”

Vince smirked and groped Howard’s arse playfully. “ _I’ll_ say you have hidden depths. I should know--I’ve been inside you.”

Howard’s first instinct was to slap the impish grin off Vince’s face. But Vince wore mischief too well--it was one of Howard’s favorite things about him--so he kissed him instead. The kiss quickly grew heated, their passion fed by the emotional intensity of their mutual confessions.

Vince broke the kiss, making Howard whine and attempt to rub his stiffening cock against Vince’s thigh. “Later, Howard,” Vince whispered, his words tickling Howard’s ear. “These decorations won’t hang themselves, you know.” Howard was ready to say “Sod the damn decorations!” and head back to bed for a round of satisfying, emotionally-charged lovemaking. He ground into Vince’s hip, whining, trying to convince his lover otherwise. But Vince was steadfast in his dedication to throwing a perfect party for Cassie’s shower. He did, however, whisper, “If you’re good and help me, I’ll put my tongue in your arse later...”

Howard, who had developed a particular appreciation for Vince’s cunning tongue, acquiesced, but not without making a show of rearranging his bits for Vince’s watchful eye. Forcing himself to ignore his erection, Howard grabbed a banner off the pile on the kitchen island. “Where do you want this?” 

Vince gestured toward the kitchen, already back in party-planning mode, eyes shining in manic glee. “I was thinking we could hang it over the cabinets, yeah? You could probably reach that without having to stand on anything.”

Howard got a piece of sellotape and haphazardly attached the banner to the kitchen cabinets, which read, “WELCOME, BABY GIRL!” in obnoxious holographic pink letters. 

“A little to the left, Howard,” Vince directed. “And a little less lopsided.” Howard rolled his eyes but did what he was told, the promise of a thorough rimming, followed by an even more thorough bumming, motivating him into total obedience. 

While Vince flitted around the flat, occupying himself with the optimal placement of balloons and tablecloths, Howard was tasked with putting together the goodie bags. He wasn’t sure why they had to have goodie bags, considering that it was an adult party, but at least he was able to sit down while he did it, which his aching back and feet appreciated.

Of course, since they were Vince’s idea, the goodie bags were mostly sweets. However, a closer look at the stacks of party favors revealed that Vince had included a few pieces of alien-themed kitsch: stickers with green-skinned, bug-eyed aliens flashing the peace sign, little eggs that hatched an alien when placed in water, and UFO keychains. “What is the meaning of this?” Howard sputtered, offended that Vince would choose gifts mocking Cassie’s alien heritage.

Looking over his shoulder, Vince replied, “Aren’t they genius? Those little alien eggs are well cool--you can get one of four different aliens! I hope I get a purple one--”

“Genius?” Howard scoffed. “I think _not_ ! Cassie might be half-Uranian, but that’s no reason to--to _mock_ her--”

“Oh, Howard,” Vince interrupted before Howard could launch into a full-on rant about the importance of respecting Cassie’s otherworldly origins, “is that what you think? Really?”

Howard blanched. “Look here, Vince! I know Cassie is... different... but that’s no reason to make fun of her! She’s just a baby!”

“But I’m _not_ making fun of her,” Vince said. “I love our little alien baby girl! I’d never make fun of her for being half alien. That’s just part of what makes her so special--”

“Then _why?”_ Howard cried.

Vince shuffled his feet awkwardly. “I just thought it’d be a cute and fun way to celebrate Cassie’s heritage. Especially considering that her birth parents can’t be arsed to visit from Uranus. I mean, I _did_ invite them, but no one on their entire planet RSVP’ed, which is well rude if you ask me--”

Perhaps Howard had jumped to conclusions. Seeing Vince’s excitement, and realizing the obvious care he’d taken in selecting the party favors, Howard was already reconsidering his assumptions. “Vince--” he began.

But Vince chattered on. “We don’t have to put them in if you don’t want to, Howard. Maybe it was kind of a stupid thing to do--”

“Vince!” Howard interrupted. Vince shut up, looking chagrined. “Look, I was wrong. They’re well cute, and you’re right... Cassie’s heritage deserves to be celebrated.”

Vince gaped, looking dumbstruck. “But--but you said--”

“Yeah, I know what I said,” Howard admitted. “But I know you love Cassie, and you would never do anything to hurt her on purpose, especially not making fun of her for looking different. I mean, look at you--”

“A hundred years ago I’d be imprisoned for being a witch, with my feathery hair and pointy visage,” Vince agreed, smiling.

Howard held up one of the hatching alien eggs. “You think that alien babies really hatch from eggs?”

“Dunno,” Vince admitted. “But I’m glad our Cassie isn’t being hatched. I’d probably drop the egg and crack it or something. Or maybe Naboo and Bollo would get the munchies and try to scramble her...”

Howard grimaced. “Pregnancy is tough, but I’m glad she’s not an egg either. Laying eggs sounds rather... uncomfortable...”

“At least Naboo is giving you the good drugs for the delivery,” Vince agreed. His eyes lit up with mischief. “’Sides, you make a really attractive pregnant man, with your great big belly and your really excellent pregnancy tits...”

Howard flushed. He supposed a normal man would be offended by Vince’s effusive compliments about his pregnancy body, he not-so-secretly got off on Vince’s praise. Reminded of Vince’s earlier promise to rim him silly, Howard diligently dedicated himself to putting together the goodie bags. The sooner they finished decorating, the sooner Howard could get the bumming Vince had promised him...

Some time later, Vince stepped back to admire the flat. He and Howard (well, mostly _him_ ) had done a really good job decorating. The whole pink and black motif had come together nicely. He’d go to the bakery in the morning to pick up the cupcakes he’d ordered, and the effect would be complete. He sighed, knowing he’d done a great job planning the party and that there was nothing more he could do now but let it happen, then read over the guest list again. Surprisingly, he was less upset than he’d expected. He and Howard _did_ know everyone who was coming, Howard had been right about that. Vince supposed there was value in a small, intimate gathering of people who actually knew and cared for him and Howard and their unborn alien baby. 

With another sigh, he let go of the last of the feeling in his chest that was gripping to his preconceived ideas of a party being an absolute crush of wall-to-wall people, all of them vying to get a look at him. He reconciled that image with the quieter vision of a small gathering of people who wanted to see him, not to admire his hair or his clothes, but to ask how he was, was he ready for the baby, how was Howard handling everything. 

Though he was loathe to admit it, Howard had been right. Howard was always right. Vince wondered how much easier their lives would be if he ever fully accepted that fact, then smirked to himself and realized it’d be well boring and gave up on the idea. 

He approached Howard from behind, trying to give him a hug around the expanse of his belly. “I’m sorry, Howard,” said Vince, his voice soft. “I know I tried to make the shower about me. I just… it’s an adjustment, you know? Going from being so adored and followed to being mostly ignored. I’ll get used to it.” 

“You don’t have to give up your social life entirely,” said Howard. “If it’s that important to you, we can--”

“But it’s not,” Vince cut in, turning Howard around so they faced each other. “Never was. Just wanted attention. Mostly from you. Then I just got used to being a minor celebrity,” he said cheekily. “But now that I’ve got you right where I want you,” he pressed a kiss to Howard’s throat, “figure I probably don’t need all that anymore.” He gently bit Howard’s neck. “Just promise me you’ll make up for it, yeah? Make me feel all worshipped and adored?” 

Howard moaned. “God, yes, Vince,” he said, capturing Vince’s mouth with his own. He licked hungrily into Vince’s mouth before pulling away. “Let me know when you need worshipping. I’m happy to oblige.” 


	27. Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s finally the evening of the baby shower, and Vince and Howard are as ready as they’ll ever be: they’ve got cupcakes, matching outfits, and booze--they’ve got everything, that is, except for food. In a room full of drunken shaman, only the strong will survive...

Howard sat on the brand-new queen-sized bed he shared with Vince, flipping through the crate that contained his record collection. He was ostensibly making his musical selections for the party, and thought he had quite a good mix: some jazz, some funk-fusion, even a Gary Numan to please Vince. 

The  _ real _ reason Howard was sitting on his bed flipping through albums on the day of his baby shower, however, was because he was awaiting the Vince Noir Fashion Show that preceded precluded all parties, soirees, and minor gatherings. 

As expected, Vince floated in wearing high heeled sparkly boots and a skintight jumpsuit that left very little to the imagination. He strutted in, as though the bedroom were a runway, and stopped before Howard, striking a pose. 

Howard grinned wolfishly. Vince looked  _ delicious,  _ every curve and angle shown off to incredible advantage in the jumpsuit. 

“What do you think?” asked Vince. Howard thought, “Hang the rest of the options, you should wear this and nothing else every day for the rest of your life,” but knew that wasn’t what Vince wanted to hear. This was a ritual. Howard would offer no useful advice, Vince would change into a new outfit and strut around and ask again for Howard’s useless opinions, and the process would repeat 6-23 times. 

“It looks…  _ good,”  _ said Howard, his eyes trailing up and down Vince’s lithe body hungrily. “Really good.” 

Vince beamed at him. “Good, that’s settled then.” He bent over to unzip his teetering boots, giving Howard quite a nice view, and toed them off, no longer Vince Noir Rock n’ Roll Star or Prince of Camden or whatever title he had now. He was just Vince. Still dressed in a borderline obscene jumpsuit, but just Vince. 

Vince went over to the wardrobe and procured from inside it a box. He placed the box in Howard’s lap then sat, legs folded under him, and said, “Open it,” looking for all the world like an overexcited child at a birthday party when his gift is being opened by the recipient. 

Howard’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “For me?”

“Of course it’s for you, you git. Go on, open it.” 

Howard lifted the lid, and carefully pulled apart the tissue paper inside. Folded neatly inside the box was a shirt and trousers. Howard was spoiled enough to know that this was a Vince Noir Couture custom piece. No one else made clothes this carefully, or folded them so neatly. He shook out the shirt reverently. It was similar to his Hawaiian-print maternity ( _ paternity, _ the pedantic part of Howard’s brain corrected) shirts that Vince had made him, only in a galaxy print fabric. Beneath the shirt was a pair of trousers with an elastic waistband to support his belly, made in a dark gray corduroy. He glanced at Vince, mouth agape. “You  _ made _ these?”

Vince bit his lip grinning and nodded enthusiastically. “And,” he said, springing up off the bed and reaching into the wardrobe once more, “I made this for myself.” He wrapped a skinny scarf around his neck fashionably, and Howard noticed right away it was made of the same fabric as his galaxy shirt. Vince stood, arms outspread. “What do you think?”

Howard carefully placed his new clothes on the bed, and heaving himself up as quickly as he could and crushed Vince in a hot, open-mouthed kiss. “Matching outfits?” he asked between feverish kisses. “In a space print? For Cassie?”

Vince giggled. “‘Course for Cassie. You like it?”

Howard moaned, grinding himself slowly into Vince. “Love it,” he growled, nibbling at Vince’s lips lasciviously. 

Vince smiled around his kisses and pushed back. “No, Howard, I’ve got to get my hair ready and I still need to run to the bakery to get the cupcakes. Guests will be here soon--”

“It’s 10 in the bloody morning,” Howard griped, “we’ve got plenty of time before the guests show up.” The party wouldn’t even start until 6, and besides, they’d done most of the decorating and other preparations last night. Howard couldn’t believe that they would need eight whole hours to finish getting ready. 

“ _ No,  _ Howard.” Vince’s tone was firm, and Howard sighed, knowing there was no chance of convincing his lover otherwise. When he saw Howard’s disappointed expression, Vince placed a chaste kiss on the tip of Howard’s nose. “We wait.” Howard nodded in defeat, as Vince gathered his supplies to head to the bathroom. “Glad you liked the outfits, though, Howard, I made them especially for the shower. It’s a party for  _ our _ baby--we gotta be the smartest-dressed couple in the whole room!” 

Howard was confused. It was unlike Vince to only have one outfit for a party--he normally spent hours trying on clothing in his quest to find “the one”. Even more confusing was Howard’s disappointment; he’d been looking forward to having an excuse to ogle Vince for hours as he strutted and preened in front of the mirror, but perhaps now that they were lovers, Howard didn’t need an excuse to ogle him. “You mean you didn’t bother with any others?”

“Nah, didn’t need to. ’Sides, I’m pretty much a married man these days, I don’t need to impress the whole room--just  _ you _ . And from the looks of you,” (Vince’s eyes swept over Howard’s frame, focusing on the prominent bulge between his legs), “it worked.” He grinned cheekily and exited the room, swaying his hips a bit more than necessary. Howard readjusted himself and tried to think unsexy thoughts. It wasn’t hard to do: Tony Harrison  _ and  _ Bob Fossil would soon be in his flat. That thought alone made his balls shrivel slightly. 

The cupcakes were on the table, the last of the balloons had been inflated and arranged, the music was playing with fifteen minutes to go. Vince paced the floor nervously like a caged tiger, while Howard sat on the sofa staring at his hands. Vince figured nobody would show up at 6, it was way more fashionable to be late than early. But still, he wondered… what if nobody came? What if no one cared? Howard,  _ his  _ Howard, was having a  _ baby  _ for chrissakes, he  _ deserved _ everybody to care. But what if they didn’t? Vince might have been naive, but even he knew the world was a cruel place. Would it be that cruel? What if--

His dark ponderings were interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. Vince double-checked the time--no, it was still early. Who could it possibly be?

Anxiously, Vince smoothed the lines of his jumpsuit. There was nary a wrinkle or a rumple in sight--admittedly the fabric was too tight t wrinkle much. Howard noticed his anxious fidgeting, and nodded encouragingly. That was all Vince needed to gather his wits about him and head down the stairs and answer the bell. 

Whoever it was was certainly impatient... they buzzed again, rather aggressively, too. “Hold your horses,” Vince muttered under his breath, clomping down the stairs.

Leroy, who had never been on time for anything in his life, much less  _ early _ , was waiting on the other side of the door, impatiently tapping his foot. “Finally!” he muttered, shoving a brightly-wrapped box into Vince’s hands. “Took you long enough.”

“You’re  _ early _ ,” Vince said. “We wasn’t expecting  _ anyone _ just yet.” He was still a bit anxious that no one would show, but Leroy’s eagerness comforted him somewhat. If someone as chronically late as Leroy was eager enough to attend Howard’s baby shower, it boded well for the rest of the guests on the list.

“Well,  _ yeah _ ,” Leroy said, following Vince back up the stairs. “I ain’t seen you and Howard in forever--wasn’t gonna miss  _ this _ for nothing.”

Leroy and Howard exchanged greetings. It was obvious that Leroy had never seen a pregnant man before--he stared, speechlessly gawping at Howard’s huge belly. When he finally recovered his faculties enough to speak, it was to say, “You really got a baby in there, don’t you?”

Howard flushed and laid a protective hand on his stomach. “Indeed I do, sir. She’s thirty-six weeks... in just one month, I’ll finally be able to hold my daughter in my arms.”

“Huh,” Leroy said, still looking slack-jawed and stupid. “When Vince told me you’d been abducted and impregnated by aliens from Uranus, I thought it was just another one of his stories...”

“Yes, I know... our Vince certainly has a wild imagination...”

“Oi!” Vince protested, slinging a possessive arm around Howard’s waist. “You guys’re my best friends! You should know I would never lie about something important as that!”

Howard and Leroy exchanged a conspiratorial look that said otherwise. “I know, love,” Howard said placatingly as he dropped an affectionate kiss onto Vince’s forehead.

Leroy stared at his two friends, an inscrutable look on his face. “You know, I’m really proud of you two,” he said. “I’ve known you guys for a long time, and I’d begun to lose hope that you were ever going to resolve that weird homoerotic sexual tension thing you’ve had going on for like, forever.”

“What do you mean, ‘that weird homoerotic sexual tension thing’?” Howard asked, chagrined.

Leroy shrugged. “You know, all that bickering you did all the time, and the generally being obsessed with each other--”

“I am  _ not _ obsessed with  _ Howard _ ,” Vince insisted.

“And I certainly am not  _ obsessed _ with  _ Vince _ ,” Howard protested.

Leroy gave his two friends a pitying look. “It’s OK, guys. You two are having a baby together. You can admit you’re obsessed with each other now.” He cocked his head. “I mean, it’s probably not exactly healthy, but it’s better than it was  _ before _ you guys started bumming and all.”

Vince and Howard exchanged glances. Had they really been that obvious? How was it that everyone they knew had picked up on it except for them?

“‘Sides,” continued Leroy, “we all knew Howard was a right bottom bitch.” With this proclamation, Leroy threw his head back and laughed, and his laugh, which had always been infectious, infected Vince, and after a moment, Howard too. Luckily, Howard was now secure enough in his sexuality that he could laugh at himself for being such a total bottom instead of lapsing into a self-loathing strop wherein he doubted his own masculinity.

Besides, if only Leroy knew that it was  _ Howard _ making  _ Vince _ lose control most of the time, he might not be so quick to tease. But Howard Moon was a man with dignity, and some things were meant to be private. This, Howard surmised, was one of them.

By 6:30, the party was in full swing. Even the Shaman Council had arrived, late as usual, but  _ almost _ on time, or at least close enough that Vince was able to avoid another social crisis.

“I don’t understand,” Howard groused at Naboo and Bollo, his penchant for punctuality perturbed by his flatmates' late arrival. “You two live in the attic, how hard is it to be on time?”

Naboo glared stonedly, his eyes squinty and bloodshot. “Well, first I had to get really, really high. I was trying to be considerate, you know, because of your  _ condition _ and your paranoia about the effects of second-hand marijuana smoke on the fetus and everything...”

“Bollo have to do what Naboo tell him. Also, Bollo really, really stoned right now,” Bollo offered, then wandered off to help himself to the cupcakes that Vince had artfully arranged on the kitchen island. Naboo followed, evidently suffering an attack of the munchies himself.

The next thing that perturbed Howard was realizing that his carefully selected music choices had been replaced with some drivel that could only be called “noise”. He looked and found that Saboo had set up his turntable and was already blasting his music over the speakers, thus rendering Howard’s carefully-cultivated musical selections irrelevant. Howard did, however, note that Saboo was wearing something… different. 

“I see you’ve taken over the DJ duties, sir,” said Howard. He was a little bitter, but he was also too intimidated by Saboo’s shaman powers, legal prowess, and scathing sarcasm to protest his usurpation of the party music. 

“Peak human observation skills,” Saboo deadpanned back. 

“Erm, yes,” stammered Howard. “I just… Lester?” Lester Corncrake’s disembodied head hung from the apparatus slung over Saboo’s shoulders. It was an interesting fashion choice, even for a man who dressed like a Gothic conquistador.

“Skiddly doot, that’s right, Howard!” scatted Lester. “Heard you got yourself knocked up by aliens from Uranus!” he cackled maniacally.

Howard stifled a sigh. Lester had always been a little... strange... but he’d become ever more so since he’d been decapitated by Dennis in a case of mistaken identity after Vince had been caught in the cupboard with Dennis’s wife, the extreme sports calendar model, during  _ that _ fateful party nearly two years ago. Howard felt a little guilty about Lester’s... predicament... considering that he’d been snogging Vince while Lester had been quite literally losing his head, so he felt a certain obligation to continue to be Lester’s friend.

“It’s true, sir,” Howard said, feeling awkward and not a little confused. “Why are you in this… thing? What’s going on?” Howard asked, equally concerned and horrified and amused. 

Saboo rolled his eyes. From behind him came Tony Harrison’s keening voice, “Aww, turn us around, Saboo! I want to talk to Magnum P.I!” 

Saboo stubbornly turned around and Howard saw Tony Harrison grinning up at him from a rear-facing papoose. He waggled his nonexistent eyebrows at Howard. “All right there, Sunshine?” he asked. 

By this time Vince had wandered over to exchange pleasantries with Lester, apparently nonplussed by the fact that Saboo was wearing two of their guests in a double-sided papoose while Howard was still desperately trying to deduce what exactly was going on. 

“Why did I ever agree to carry you around in the papoose?” griped Saboo. “I’m having a miserable time, just so you know.”

“You  _ know _ why,” Tony Harrison warned ominously. Even if Howard and Vince couldn’t see his face, they could hear the lecherous leer in his voice.

“Shut your face or I swear I will toss you right into the Crunch--”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sweetheart,” Tony Harrison warned. “Remember our agreement--you carry me and Lester in our papooses all night, or else I tell everyone about that  _ thing _ you do when you’re out of your mind on poppers...”

Saboo went pale and shut his mouth. 

Tony Harrison was the  _ worst _ , but Howard couldn’t help being at least a little impressed. He’d never seen Saboo shut up before. Vince’s eyebrows were disappearing beneath his fringe as he asked Tony Harrison, “What does he do--”

Saboo cut him off with a gloved finger in the face. “Shh. It would be  _ most  _ unwise for you to continue your inquiry, pretty little manlady. If you want to live to see your… partner’s spawn, you turn around and forget you heard  _ anything. _ ” 

Tony Harrison laughed. “Yeah, what he said. ‘Sides, we need to get this party started with the music. Saboo, set me down so I can lay down those tracks.” Muttering darkly to himself, Saboo began the process of extricating himself from the double papoose.

Vince and Howard turned and left, minds filled with disturbing possibilities as to what, precisely, Saboo did when out of his mind on poppers, to greet their other guests. 

The agitation they’d felt when they received Bob Fossil’s RSVP in the post was nothing next to the agitation they felt when they saw him there, in the flat, where they  _ lived _ , in all his undersized blue safari-suited glory, trying to chat up the Goth girls. For their part, Anthrax and Ebola looked just as disturbed as one might expect, though they were trying to politely discourage Bob Fossil from being freaky.

Howard sighed. There was no polite way to discourage Bob Fossil’s freakiness... in fact, he wasn’t sure that there was even a rude way to do it. In fact, being rude seemed to have the opposite effect... it was almost like Fossil got off harder when you were rude to him...

Though Howard had not suffered from morning sickness since the sixth month of his pregnancy, he thought he was going to be ill. He swallowed, trying desperately to think more pleasant thoughts, in an attempt to avoid ruining his own shower by spewing vomit all over his guests.

Luckily Vince’s innate social skills saved him from having to talk to Fossil directly. “Heya, Bobby! How’s things at the Velvet Onion?”

“Vincey! My little Camden prince!” Fossil squawked, throwing himself at Vince with his arms outstretched in an attempt to give Vince a groping hug, which Vince smoothly sidestepped. Fossil almost lost his balance, and Howard was a little disappointed when he didn’t fall face-first onto the floor and knock himself unconscious. “I haven’t seen you in ages! Where have you been? In ‘Nam?”

“No,” Vince said. “I’ve mostly been home, helping Howard out. We’ve got a baby on the way you know--babies are a lot of work, even before they’re born.”

Fossil eyed Howard lasciviously and licked his lips. “You’re looking rather luscious, Moon,” he said, sounding depraved as ever. “You’ve got pumpkin tits to match your pumpkin ass!”

Howard crossed his arms over his bosom protectively. It did not stop Fossil from leering, however.

“Doesn’t he look amazing?” Vince enthused. Howard tried to catch his eye, desperately trying to mime the phrase  _ Don’t encourage him!  _ to his oblivious lover. Unfortunately for Howard, Vince was too swept up in his adoration for Howard’s pregnancy body to change the subject. “I’ve half a mind to get him pregnant again, just so he never loses those tits. You should see him naked--”

“No!” Howard cried. He could think of nothing more disturbing than Bob Fossil seeing him naked. It had been bad enough when he’d been giving Fossil lapdances in his little pants for extra cash during the Zooniverse days, and Howard had no intention of ever debasing himself for Fossil again. “You should  _ not _ see me naked--”

“Aww, Howard, don’t be shy! I’ve seen your nakie T&A plenty of times. You and I, we have history.  _ Sexual _ history.”

Anthrax and Ebola looked positively disturbed.

“This is slander, sir, and I won’t stand for it!”

“It’s not slander if it’s  _ true, _ ” Fossil leered. “You’re a former male prostitute--one of the best I’ve ever had! Remember how I used to pay you to dance for me in those little blue pants?”

“All right, that’s enough Fossil,” Vince said, voice low and menacing and tinged with the Cockney twang that meant he was about to do something violent. Howard’s insides melted with affection for his lover standing up for him, defending him against Fossil’s perversion. 

Fossil finally fucked off, but not before sneaking a grope of Howard’s arse. Vince looked ready to lunge at him, but Howard put a restraining hand on Vince’s arm, not eager to see his baby shower sullied by acts of violence, no matter how much Fossil deserved it. 

“I’ll kill ‘im,” Vince growled. Howard wanted to take him right there, but maintained his dignity. He cleared his throat and eyed the Goth girls, who were looking as taken with Vince as he was. 

“Please try to refrain from killing anyone at my baby shower,” Howard said. “I don’t think either of us want to deal with the cleanup. Murder is messy business, you know.”

Vince grudgingly admitted Howard had a point. He turned to Anthrax and Ebola, greeting them effusively, his charm in full force. “It means a lot to us that you two decided to join us tonight.”

“Actually, we weren’t sure you’d show when we invited you,” Howard admitted, “after the last time we hung out went so wrong...”

“Are you kidding? There’s no way we would miss your baby shower,” Anthrax said, wrapping a fishnet-clad arm around Ebola’s slim waist.

“After all, we don’t know very many other gay couples in London,” Ebola remarked. “You guys were the first gay couple we met after moving here. That’s why we were so excited when Vince invited us over to your place back then.”

Vince and Howard shared a look. Had Anthrax and Ebola really assumed that they were a couple when Vince all that time ago? It seemed that everyone  _ except _ Vince and Howard had picked up on the simmering sexual tension between them long before they themselves had.

“Especially not any other gay couples who are having children,” Anthrax continued.

“It’s true, so many of our friends are younger, and in a very different place in their lives,” Ebola interjected. “Not ready to settle down and start a family like you two.”

“That’s why we hung out with you in the first place,” Anthrax said. “It was clear that you guys were really committed to one another, and we just wanted to make some queer friends who were in a long-term relationship, just like us.”

Howard turned red. He and Vince had just started dating! And yet, Anthrax and Ebola had assumed they were a couple  _ years  _ ago... 

“Yeah, Anthrax and I have been wanting to have a baby for a while,” Ebola said. “But in-vitro’s well expensive, and we keep failing our interviews with the adoption agencies.”

“They’re prejudiced against Goths!” Anthrax exclaimed. 

“Yeah, they think we’re going to dye the baby’s hair black, or tattoo it or something, just ‘cos we’re Goth!”

“Are you sure it’s because of the Goth thing and not because of the gay thing?” Howard asked.

The two girls glared at him.

“Howard,” Vince chided, “you can’t go around asking people about their fashion choices! That’s well rude!”

“Of course not!” Ebola protested. “Plenty of lesbian couples adopt babies, no problem! Goths are people too, you know!”

“We’re just like you, really, only we listen to Cradle of Filth,” Anthrax said with a healthy dose of outrage. “Just because we’re Goths, it doesn’t mean we’re going to force our lifestyle onto our child.”

“Look, if our kid decides they want to be Goth when they get older, that’s  _ their _ choice,” Ebola said. “We’ll love and support them no matter what, even if they decide they want to be a Sloanie!”

“That’s very important, letting the kid decide for themselves what they want to be,” Vince agreed. “That’s why Howard are raising our little Cassie without gender roles, so she can be whatever she wants to be when she grows up.”

“Yes,” Howard said seriously, “we’re also going to let her choose between jazz and electro. When she’s old enough, of course.”

Anthrax and Ebola nodded in understanding.

“We’ve been wondering... well, we’ve never heard of a pregnant man before. How did you manage to get pregnant anyway?” Anthrax asked. 

“Yeah, between the two of you, we always figured that Vince was the one who was born a woman.”

“Well,” Howard said, “we’ve both always been men.”

“Born that way and everything.” Vince put a possessive hand on Howard’s belly. “You see, Howard here got abducted by aliens from the planet Uranus, and they did some kind of advanced alien gene-splicing science experiment on him, and the next thing you know, wham! He’s pregnant!” 

“Really?” Ebola looked way too curious for Howard’s comfort.

“What was it like?” Anthrax inquired.

“Well, I was sitting on the roof one night, feeling miserable and alone, when an alien spaceship appeared out of nowhere,” Howard began. “The next thing I know, I was in a bright, white room, surrounded by alien beings.”

“Whoa.” Ebola looked impressed. “You know, I always wanted to get abducted by aliens.”

“It wasn’t all that great,” Howard admitted. “First, 40 aliens watched me piss myself. Then they all took turns batting at my knockers. And finally, they put me under some kind of hypnosis spell and used a machine and a massive alien dildo to, er, penetrate me and, uh, impregnate me.”

“So, what you’re saying is, if we go to the roof, the aliens will come and abduct us and give us half-alien babies of our own?” Anthrax asked, a little too eagerly.

“I don’t know about all that--” Howard protested, but it was too late. The Goth girls were already climbing out the window and onto the fire escape, headed for the roof. 

“Hey, Moon, did your homunculus ass get any food for this party?” Fossil shouted over the din. 

Howard looked at Vince, who’d gone pale, the blood draining from his pointy face. “Vince, you all right?” asked Howard. Vince didn’t answer. He appeared to be completely panic-stricken, staring into the void with utter terror in his eyes. 

“Howard,” Vince moaned, “I was so busy with the decorations and the cupcakes that I forgot about the food!”

The two men stared at one another, terrified. They had the Shaman Council in a roomful of alcohol, and no food to soak up the booze and keep them on the civilized side of intoxicated. This shower, Howard realized, was about to get very, very weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our beautiful beta [A_Little_Boosh_Maid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid) pointed out that the opposite of a goth in the UK isn’t a “prep” like it is in the US, but rather a Sloane Ranger or “Sloanie.” Google it! And thanks for having our backs.


	28. Twenty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The baby shower goes about as well as you’d expect with a room full of intoxicated Shaman, an inappropriate Bob Fossil, and Vince trying to keep it all together. Howard is a thousand percent done with everything, and would like to skip straight ahead to the after-party sexytimes...but he’ll have to get through opening presents and silly shower games first. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to A_Little_Boosh_Maid, we know the correct Britishism for “diaper” is “nappy”, but we do what we want. Thanks for all the hard work you do--you’re the best beta we could ask for even if we don't always listen!

Howard helped Vince, who was still shaken about his oversight of providing food for the party, over to a chair. “Let me get you a drink,” said Howard, making his way over to the makeshift bar the Shaman Council had arranged on the kitchen counter. Hopefully he’d be able to find something to calm Vince down.

Vince followed him, looking stricken and chattering nervously. “I thought I’d asked Naboo to get it. We talked about it! There were going to be sandwiches… normal ones for the normal people, and sardine and blueberry jam ones especially for you!” 

“Naboo,” summoned Howard. Naboo came over and nonchalantly took in Vince’s terror-stricken appearance. “Did you order the food for the party?”

“Nah, asked Dennis to handle it. Figured he had the council’s pursestrings. Oi, Dennis!” 

Dennis, who had been pounding cupcakes all night, teetered over to the chair. “Dennis, did you get the food for the party?”

“Ah,” said Dennis, looking as shamefaced as a bald man with a moustache and white eyes was capable of looking. “Er, no. I got busy dealing with Shaman Business, you know how it is, Naboo. I asked Kirk to look after that detail.” Naboo and Howard groaned simultaneously as Vince collapsed his head into his hands. _Everyone_ knew not to trust Kirk with anything important, unless the important business at hand involved drugs or sex or both. Anything else would be relegated to the parts of Kirk’s brain that had long ago been atrophied by excessive intoxication and depraved sexual practices, and immediately forgotten.

“Dennis, you bald ballbag, you naked, shaven crease--” Naboo laid into the man, unleashing one creative insult after another. 

Unwilling to watch the Shaman devolve into a drunken, arguing mess, Howard turned to Vince, who was still visibly upset by the party foul. “Well, that’s what happened, I guess,” Howard summed up succinctly. “It’s okay, Vince,” he said, drawing soothing circles on his lover’s back. “We have plenty of cupcakes…” his voice trailed off. “And, you know, the sweets in the goodie bags.” 

Vince groaned. “It’s all sugar, Howard! And the Shaman have brought loads of booze and poppers and who knows what else. Do you know what happens when you combine sugar and booze? You get really, really drunk! This entire baby shower is a _disaster_.” Naboo and Dennis, still arguing over who was responsible for the entire mess, excused themselves to go blame Saboo and Tony Harrison, who, awful as they were, made for convenient scapegoats. 

Howard placed a kiss on top of Vince’s head and stroked his hair affectionately. “Hey,” he said softly. “This party’s been great. A bit untraditional for a baby shower, maybe, what with the drugs and the Shaman and all. But we’re unconventional, too, Vince. I mean, look at me!” He rubbed his bump and gestured at himself. “I’m a pregnant man! I got pregnant by aliens, my baby’s daddy is from Uranus, _nothing_ about this is traditional. So in that sense, this party is perfect.” 

Vince grinned up at Howard. “Cheers, Howard,” he said, and gave him a chaste kiss. 

“Aww, lovebirds!” yelled Tony Harrison from the table where he and Saboo were playing DJ. “C’mere, got something for you!” Shooting a suspicious glance at each other, Vince and Howard made their way towards the Shaman. 

“My esteemed colleague, Saboo,” Tony Harrison keened, pointing a tentacle at Saboo as though Vince and Howard didn’t know who he was, “was just explaining to me this is a baby shower. I thought it was a wedding shower! For you two!” He laughed, showing off his white teeth. Howard tried to mask his grimace by making it a smile, but he was really disgusted at the idea of a bridal shower or stag do with the Shaman involved. “So I brought these! Saboo, show ‘em!” Rolling his eyes, Saboo ducked beneath the table and procured a large container of gummy candies. 

“Oh, brilliant!” exclaimed Vince. At first Howard thought he was being sarcastic since it was, after all, an offering of more sugar. But glancing at Vince Howard realized he was genuinely excited, as gummies were some of his favorite treats. “Hey, Howard!” said Vince, giggling. “Look!” He held up a gummy and Howard was horrified to see it was penis-shaped. “You _did_ say this was an unconventional party. Guess since you got pregnant taking it up the arse, this is a bit on theme though, innit?” Vince swallowed the candy gleefully.

Howard hated him for it, but Vince had a point. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to accept penis-shaped candy from Tony Harrison. Everything about that screamed “bad idea” to him. 

“Cheers, Tony Harrison,” said Vince, taking another swig of his drink. Together they surveyed the room. The goth girls were still on the roof attempting to get abducted. Fossil was having a heated conversation with the papoosed Lester Corncrake, if “conversation” could mean “both of them talking over each other in ever increasing volume.” Dennis was still consuming cupcakes by licking the frosting off first, Howard noted with disgust. The crowd was small, there was no food other than sugar, and the music was, frankly, terrible, but everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. It was, Howard decided, a good party. 

That is, until Vince announced loudly that it was time for some baby shower games. Howard, who was quickly becoming the only sober person at the party, thought that Anthrax and Ebola were probably well familiar with baby shower games, as they were women and that was in their sphere. He, however, hadn’t even been aware there _were_ baby shower games until Vince had told him they existed. The idea sounded terrible, and he very desperately wanted a drink, reasoning that such ridiculous diversions were actually much more diverting if one’s brain was scrambled by alcohol. Unfortunately, as Howard was extremely pregnant, he had to endure the horrors completely sober. 

“Okay, everyone,” said Vince. “First, we’re going to pair off and see who can create the best nappy out of toilet tissue.” He made a big deal of getting the party into pairs and giving them each a roll of toilet paper. “You have one minute.” He giggled in anticipation. “On your marks, get set, go!” 

Naboo and Bollo did not participate, insisting that they needed to get blasted on methamphetamine before doing anything that required so much concentration. Saboo and Tony Harrison argued for the entire minute over whether the paper was sanitary or not, neither of them really grasping the concept of earth’s need for it. Dennis tried to wrap up Kirk but did not get very far, being far too drunk to accomplish much. Vince had done his best with Leroy, but they didn’t get very far, either, both of them dissolving into fits of laughter. The goth girls made something that looked positively kinky, and to the shock and horror of exactly no one, Lester and Bob Fossil constructed a perfect diaper, which Fossil wore proudly. The worst part about it was that Lester, being a disembodied head, had done absolutely _nothing_ to help with the whole thing--Fossil, sinking into ever deeper depths of depravity, had diapered _himself_. Howard, who was the judge of the entire mess, named Fossil and Lester the winners and hoped this was the end of the games. 

It was not. 

Tony Harrison guessed the exact number of diaper pins in a clear jar leading Saboo to accuse him of cheating. The two of them ended up with their hands (or, in Tony Harrison’s case, tentacles) around the other’s neck, mutually trying to strangle each other.

At that point, the party degenerated into a drunken mess. Dennis, who had eaten nearly a dozen cupcakes, passed out onto the floor in the middle of the room. The Shaman seemed nonplussed.

“Shouldn’t we, you know, try to help him?” Howard asked, staring down at the large, bald, immobile man on the floor.

“Nah,” Naboo shrugged. “He’ll get over it. Just had too many cupcakes.”

“Dennis no can handle sugar,” Bollo added. “Dennis lightweight.”

“Yeah, he gets all hyped and then passes out,” Kirk said. “He’ll wake up in a couple hours with a massive blinder. Best let him sleep it off while he can.”

Howard wasn’t all that convinced, but the rest of the partygoers continued to drink, ignoring the unconscious Shaman on the floor. Eventually Howard started ignoring him too.

This was fortuitous, as Vince had started downing one alcopop after another, and was well on his way to being inebriated himself. “Howard!” he cried, flinging himself at his lover and planting a sloppy kiss on Howard’s temple while not-so-subtly grinding himself against Howard’s arse. 

“Yes, Vince?” Howard sighed, trying to put some space between Vince and himself before Vince did something embarrassing in front of the whole party. 

“You know I love you, right?” Vince slurred, burying his face in Howard’s bosom.

No matter how inappropriate the setting, Howard thrilled at the words. He’d waited so long to hear Vince say them, he suspected he would never tire of hearing it. “Yes, love. I know.”

“Good!” Vince shouted, a little too loudly. “Do you think that anyone would miss us if we snuck off for a little quickie?”

“Vince!” Howard startled, trying to extricate himself from Vince’s clinging grip. It was no use--drunk Vince was as clingy as an octopus.

“Oi, little lady! Stop frotting your Magnum PI lookalike homosexual life partner and come drink with us!” Tony Harrison chirped, waving a glass of something neon-colored in his tentacle.

“Not now, I’m tryna convince Howard to let me give him a celebratory bummin’!” Vince exclaimed drunkenly. The whole party turned to look at them. Howard turned bright red.

“Nobody wants to see pregnant people getting off,” said Saboo. “Except for the freaks who are into that, which, far be it from me to kinkshame anyone, but I have a suspicion that you two might just be the kind of freaks who are into that sort of thing.” Vince did stop groping Howard when Saboo said “pregnant,” though. Even drunk and horny as he was, Vince knew Howard deserved _some_ dignity. 

“Speaking of,” cut in Tony Harrison, “has he bummed you or is he always the bottom?”

“Nah, he’s always the bottom so far. We tried it the other way a few times, but Howard's great big belly got in the way,” answered Vince readily. “But he’s a great lover, always makes me come before he does--but he’s getting very good at rimming! Howard _loves_ eating arse, but I think he likes it even better when _I_ eat _his_ arse....”

Naboo extricated an abused-looking piece of paper from his many pockets. “Awright, Kirk, you and Dennis owe me two hundred pounds each. And since Dennis is currently passed out on the floor in a sugar-induced coma, you, Kirk, are now responsible for paying his debts--”

“Fuck, I _hate_ that rule,” Kirk groaned, but he paid up. “Do you guys do wheelbarrow stuff? And how, exactly, does that work? Cos I’ve been well curious, but nothing shows up when I try to search ‘wheelbarrow’ on Intergalactic Pornhub... well, nothing except for some weird farm fetish videos, but that’s mostly goats, not really wheelbarrow-centric...” 

“Really?” Vince asked. “You mean Howard has a kink that they ain’t even made a porno out of yet?” He grinned at his lover. “Aww, Howard, I knew you were well kinky! All that pent-up Northern lust--”

“Okay! That’s enough!” cut in Howard. “You lot, just do the music thing. Vince, didn’t we have one more game?” 

Vince looked at him with wide eyes. “Oh yeah, we did! Hey everyone! Another game!” 

Howard sighed with relief. Party games were awful, but they were a damn sight better than Vince telling everyone everything about their sex life. 

The final game consisted of everyone writing down a wish for the baby. This sounded like a good idea when Vince had read about it on the Internet, sweet and hopeful, but seeing the motley assembly before him, he was a little worried about where that might go. Still, he figured it could be well funny, so he explained the idea to everyone and handed out pens and slips of paper. After they were through writing, everyone was supposed to put their wishes into a jar which Cassie could open later. However, not wanting to traumatize his unborn daughter irreparably, Howard decided to read them first. 

“We hope that like a bat in the night, you find whatever you’re looking for.” Howard grinned at the goth girls, who he figured had written that one. 

“I wish that you’re not as square as your old man.” Howard figured this could have come from any of the Shaman. 

“I hope you’re a good dancer little baby Moony baby.” Howard felt sick in his stomach as he eyes Fossil, who was rubbing his nipples through his too-small shirt. 

“My wish for you is that you’re not a boring, stuffy, old twat like your father.” Howard threw the paper down. “All right, that’s it. No one wins this game! You’re all terrible, awful people!” He was met with raucous laughter as the intoxicated crowd really didn’t give two shits whether they were awful or not. 

Howard glared darkly at the room. He was getting tired; it had been a long day and an even longer evening. He was pregnant and hungry, and needed something more substantial than sweets to eat. He wanted everyone to leave so he could eat a proper meal and then go right to bed. 

Seeing his beloved looking unhappy, Vince sashayed over to Howard and slung an arm around him, biting his earlobe seductively. Howard knew Vince was drunk, but it turned him on nonetheless. “Howard,” Vince purred. “Still have to open your presents.” 

“Hang the presents,” grumbled Howard. “I want a sandwich and a nap,” he whined. 

“But Howaaard,” said Vince, openly groping Howard’s arse. “I promised you a vigorous bumming earlier today, and I’m gonna make good on that.” The words shot straight to Howard’s cock. 

“Vince, dammit, there are so many people here!” Howard complained, although a bumming would certainly improve his mood. “Do the present thing quickly and then make them leave.” 

“As you command,” whispered Vince, pressing a wet, sloppy kiss to Howard’s mouth. He shouldn’t have liked it as much as he did, but Howard smiled despite himself. 

It took some time and quite a lot of yelling to get the attention of the increasingly-intoxicated partygoers. Finally, Vince managed to get their attention by cutting the music and letting the speakers echo feedback at an earsplitting volume. The guests clutched at their ears and howled, spilling their drinks in an effort to block out the terrible noise. “Awright,” said Vince loudly once he was sure he had everyone’s attention. “Time for prezzies. Everyone gather ‘round and watch Howard open stuff.” 

Grudgingly, their guests ceased their merrymaking to obey Vince’s shouted order. Howard made a big show of looking embarrassed, but this _had_ been the point that Vince used to convince him to have a baby shower in the first place. He hoped Vince’s promises of getting good gifts would come to fruition, which would certainly make up for the evening’s disastrous lack of food and Howard’s lamentable pregnancy-enforced sobriety. 

The goth girls went first, pushing a positively terrifying-looking pram into the center of the room. It was solid black and done up with black lace ribbon and striped fabric. “Got you this to push around your little one,” said Anthrax proudly. “Hope you enjoy it.” 

Howard smiled in what he hoped was a grateful manner. “Ladies,” he said smoothly. “I can’t thank you enough. We haven’t got anything like this for Cassie yet, so thank you very much.” The girls grinned at each other victoriously as Howard wheeled the goth monstrosity over to the nursery. Vince had decided to help him, and Howard whispered, "I'm not wheeling this around, it looks like I've got Tim Burton's baby!" 

Vince giggled as he replied, "That's well cool, Howard! We can tell people her name is Raven McNight.” He made a stupidly dramatic hand gesture and ended by gazing off into the void. 

Howard looked aghast. “Her name is Cassiopeia Noir-Moon, and don’t you forget it, Vince!” 

Vince’s eyes shone when Howard said their hyphenated surnames. “D’you mean that? With both our names and everythin’?”

“Of course I do,” Howard said softly. “You _are_ the other father, after all.” Overcome with affection for his lover and their unborn daughter, Vince kissed Howard full on the lips, moaning into his mouth and pressing him against the wall of the nursery. “Vince!” scolded Howard. “Not now, we have to finish the present thing. It would be well rude to leave our guests hanging...” 

Vince gave a showy, heaving sigh. “You know, you’re no fun at all when you’re the only sober one at the party,” said Vince, adjusting his jumpsuit. 

“Yeah, well, it’s no picnic for me, either,” groused Howard as they made their way back to the main room. He missed beer, and sushi, and being able to see his own dick, but he supposed that giving birth to a healthy daughter was worth a few months of sacrifice. 

Leroy, as it turned out, had made a Wild Things-themed mobile to hang above Cassie’s crib. Howard spent a lot of energy trying to keep his emotions in check, especially in front of all these people. Leroy had been friends with both Howard and Vince for years, and his support and thoughtfulness really touched Howard. 

Unfortunately, so did Bob Fossil, who did not bring a present, but kept trying to grope Howard’s tits and belly. Vince saw him do this, and growled at him, “Hands off, mate.” 

“Why? Moon’s got a bun in the oven, my two ton barrel of fun. And a _girl,_ too.” Howard stood, trying to make his height imposing rather than comical. 

“And what are you implying, sir?” he asked Bob Fossil.

“Only that maybe your daughter will be as sexy as her father,” said Fossil, licking his lips lasciviously. “Imagine if I got her old man _and_ her to dance for me in nothing but little pants--”

The rest of his demented fantasy was never heard as Vince lunged at him. “Shut your whore mouth, Fossil, or I’ll cut ya up a treat!” he screamed, his knuckles grazed Fossil’s jaw. Howard tried to hold him back, but drunk, enraged, full-Cockney Vince was a force to be reckoned with, even if he was smaller. 

“As your legal advisor,” Saboo cut in, “it is my responsibility to advise you _not_ to cut Bob Fossil...”

“Just this once?” Vince asked, eyes pleading.

“Choke me, daddy,” Fossil muttered under his breath, to Vince or Saboo or both it was uncertain. 

Saboo sighed. “Go on, just this once.” He eyed Fossil, who was rubbing his nipples, his blue safari suit looking suspiciously tight. “I suppose we can claim it’s self defense.”

Vince wasted no time in toppling Fossil down the stairs.

“Don’t you never come sniffing around _my_ Howard or _my daughter_ ever again, you bloody wank spanner!”

Fossil hit the bottom step and moaned, “Ooh, a little to the left,” before gathering himself up and limping out of the shop. Vince came back to find Howard staring at him with open admiration and Tony Harrison giving him little claps with his tentacles. 

“Right, well, _that’s_ been taken care of,” said Vince, rubbing his hands together as if wiping them clean after having performed a dirty, yet necessary, task. “Go on, Howard, love, keep opening your gifts.” 

Naboo and Bollo produced a brown paper bag containing a brightly colored plastic water pipe labeled, “My First Hookah!” 

“Naboo!” Howard scolded. “We’ve been over this! Drug paraphernalia isn’t a suitable child’s toy!” 

Naboo rolled his eyes. “It’s not _paraphernalia_ , you ignoramus,” he muttered. “It’s a pacifier that _also_ happens to be a fully-functional water pipe, so that when she’s old enough, she can partake in the wonders of recreational marijuana.”

“Is gift that grows with baby,” Bollo added helpfully.

“I hate all of this,” Howard muttered darkly to himself under his breath so no one could hear him. 

At that moment, the Shaman revealed a small, neatly-wrapped gift box which Saboo thrust into Howard’s lap. Howard carefully removed the ribbon and wrapping paper, and was amazed to find that inside the reasonably-sized box was the crib he’d been eyeing for months--the one that converted into a full sized bed so Cassie would use it her whole life. 

“How--” Howard sputtered. “How did you know?”

“We’re super magic men,” deadpanned Saboo. 

“How’d you get it to fit in the box?” Howard asked in awe. 

“Magic,” Naboo lisped as he rolled his eyes. “Makes it easier to move around. But I’m not helping you assemble it.” 

“Thank you,” Howard said sincerely to the Shaman who were still conscious enough to appreciate his gratitude. “This is so wonderful, so _thoughtful_ …” 

“Wait’ll you see what I got!” intoned Tony Harrison.

So endeared was Howard by the Shaman Council’s rather generous gift of the fancy crib he’d been wanting, that for a moment, he was living in a world where Tony Harrison was a kind, generous benefactor and expert in Intergalactic Sex Law and not a horrifying amalgamation of drug addiction and illicit sex acts. However, such illusions were immediately disabused when Howard tore open the wrapping paper and opened the box Tony Harrison had handed him.

At first, Howard did not recognize the item in the box for what it was. He noticed the strange, egg-shaped devise, the narrowed neck, and the flared base. It was hideously neon green in color, and when Howard lifted it up, the rubbery material wiggled weirdly in his hand. He examined it intently, turning it over to reveal the bug-eyed, small-mouthed alien face on the vaguely oval item. “Ha ha,” he said sarcastically. “What is this, some kind of rubber alien baby doll?”

“No,” Tony Harrison grinned. “It’s a rubber, alien-shaped buttplug! Since I thought this were your _wedding_ shower and all--you and the missus’re going to have a lot of fun on your honeymoon, what with--”

Howard screeched and tossed the offending item at Tony Harrison’s head. It missed, bouncing a few times before coming to rest at Vince’s feet. 

No one moved. The whole room seemed to be either holding its breath or stifling its laughter. Howard, angry, embarrassed, and overflowing with a mass of confusingly overwhelming pregnancy emotions, was pretty sure it was the latter.

The room remained still until Vince knelt down to pick up the gaudy sex toy. “Oh, _wow,”_ breathed Vince, eyeing the toy reverently. “ _Thank you,_ Mr. Harrison, sir.” He looked like he’d been gifted a diamond, not a sex thing. 

Howard on the other hand had turned positively puce and was a thousand percent done with this entire party. “Vince,” he whined, “make them _go home_.”

Normally, Vince would have been horrified at the idea of calling off a party and sending the guests home before sunrise. However, Vince was a horny drunk, and Tony Harrison’s gift had him feeling positively inspired. His solution to the problem was to hold the alien-shaped novelty sex toy over his head and announce, “Everyone! It’s time for you to go home! Because in five minutes, I am going to be shagging Howard until his water breaks and then I’m going to shove this alien into his bum!” 

The entire party cheered and whooped, and on that note, Saboo started the music up again while Tony Harrison made sure everyone was well-supplied with poppers. Howard, to his horror, found that he was both annoyed with Vince’s drunken proclamation, but also aroused by it. And pleased with the reactions of his friends. Everyone who’d come to his baby shower, unconventional as it was, really did care for him and want him and his baby to be happy. Except for Bob Fossil, but Howard wasn’t thinking about Fossil. He _was_ thinking about Vince drunkenly leading him to their bed for the kind of sloppy, uninhibited sex the likes of which Howard had only dreamed. The alien _might_ have been in bad taste, but Howard’s mind was fogged with erotic possibility as he wondered what exactly Tony Harrison’s gift might be good for… 


	29. Twenty-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have been behaving all night at the baby shower, and now it’s the filthy-times. That’s it. It’s just smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to our beautiful beta, [A_Little_Boosh_Maid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid). We are so full of love and gratitude! 
> 
> And this Thanksgiving week, we're grateful to all of YOU for sticking with us, for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos... we're blown away by the amount of love in this fandom and appreciate every one of you!

Vince yanked Howard into their bedroom, slamming the door in his haste to get Howard alone and naked. Although they were alone, Howard couldn’t block out the sounds of the party, which seemed to be in full swing in the other room, music blasting, voices shouting to be heard over the din. He was tired, and hungry, and not a little self-conscious about the fact that all their guests knew  _ exactly _ what he and Vince were doing right now.

Vince seemed unbothered by that, however, considering the way that he was groping at Howard, sliding his hands under Howard’s flowy, galaxy-print top to grab at Howard’s belly and tits. “Fuck, Howard, I been wanting you all night,” Vince moaned into Howard’s ear. “Just seein’ all those people, admiring you, seeing how fucking  _ sexy _ you are, so full of my baby--” His words broke into a loud, wavering moan, as if he was too overwhelmed to continue the thought.

Tired though he may have been, Howard couldn’t help but thrill at Vince’s words. Vince was drunk, true, but even sober he wasn’t shy about expressing his love for Howard’s body. He was just more effusive about it when he was drunk. And Howard’s ego, still growing stronger after the years of self-hatred that nearly had broken it completely,  _ loved  _ it. 

Not to mention the broken-off, fevered, pleasured  _ moan  _ that had just wracked Vince’s voice and body. Howard had heard all manner of moans and sounds of pleasure from Vince, but he’d never heard anything so incredibly sexy--he wanted to replay it over and over and over until it was burned in his memory forever. 

“Tell me more,” he whispered, running his fingers through Vince’s silky hair. Once he’d gotten over his fear of having his precious barnet mussed, Howard had discovered that Vince’s weak spot was his scalp. Howard could reduce Vince into a shaking, desperate mess, simply by scratching and massaging his scalp or gently tugging his hair, and Howard was using this knowledge to his advantage, shamelessly manipulating his lover into continuing his praise.

Vince gasped and rutted himself against Howard, his jumpsuit doing nothing to hide his erection. Howard inhaled sharply feeling the outline of it, hot, large, and solid, against his stomach, feeling an answering throb between his own legs as his cock began to take interest in what Vince was doing. 

“They were all so into you, Howard,” moaned Vince, pressing sloppy, open mouthed kisses up Howard’s neck. 

“Don’t know about that,” Howard chuckled. 

Vince smiled against his throat before scraping his teeth softly against the sensitive skin behind Howard’s ear. “Well, they  _ were _ \--you just don’t know, do you, how special you are? How  _ hot _ you are?” His mouth closed around the skin of Howard’s neck, sucking softly. “But it don’t matter, long as you know  _ I’m  _ into you. Wish I was  _ in _ you, Howard, fuck…” He bucked against Howard, brushing their cocks together through their clothing, making Howard moan softly in response. 

Howard took advantage of Vince’s state to pry every last confession out of him that he could. “What else...?  _ Tell _ me.” He yanked softly on Vince’s hair, wresting Vince’s mouth off his neck with a soft  _ pop _ .

“God I love your belly,” Vince slurred as he caressed Howard’s belly. Howard wriggled free of his shirt, tossing it unceremoniously to the floor, watching Vince’s eyes grow wide, his pupils dilate. “And your tits-- _ fuck _ , your tits are so  _ hot... _ ”

He latched on with his mouth and Howard threw his head back, sensation overwhelming him. Vince’s hot mouth teasing and circling his sensitive nipples was almost too much, an electric current running straight from his nipples to his cock, triggered solely by Vince’s mouth on his tits. 

“Mmm, Howard,” Vince slurred, his mouth still open around Howard’s tits, “gonna fuckin’ suckle you like a baby.” He cupped Howard’s tit in his palm and squeezed. “Wanna feast on your tits... Do they ache? Do they need to be sucked dry, Howard?” Vince moaned and ground his cock against Howard’s thigh as he tongued Howard’s sensitive nipples, causing Howard to completely forget his exhaustion and the party and everything except Vince’s mouth  _ there  _ and the absolute litany of filth dripping from Vince’s lips and tongue onto his skin. __

The more Vince talked, the less capable of speech Howard became. He wasn’t the inebriated one, but his head was light and dizzy as blood rushed to his hardening cock, his mind racing with Vince’s dirty words and promises. Knees buckling, Howard pulled back from Vince to sit on the bed while Vince watched, wavering unsteadily on his feet. 

Vince took the opportunity to divest himself of his jumpsuit and heeled boots, freeing his red and aching cock. It bobbed between his legs, the head already shining wet with precome.

At the sight of Vince undressed, pale and flawless and so needy for him, Howard removed his trousers and tossed them aside. Vince grinned, drunken and a little mischievous, reaching out to pull down Howard’s pants. “I love your cock,” he growled, the absolute obscenity of his words contrasted by the tender, adoring tone with which he spoke. “So big and so hard and all for me, isn’t it, Howard?”

“Yes,” Howard breathed, the word leaving him in a hiss as Vince’s hand closed around his cock and tugged. He was lightheaded, dizzy with desire, and, unable to support himself upright any longer, leaned back to lie on the mattress, yanking Vince down with him.

Loose-limbed and sloppy drunk, Vince collapsed onto Howard gracelessly. The weight of him should have been uncomfortable, but Howard adored having Vince on top of him, pressing him into the mattress. His bony hipbones poked Howard’s full, firm belly, and Howard closed one large hand around the ridge of Vince’s pelvis, pausing a moment to admire the way it filled his palm before leveraging his position to line Vince’s erection up with his own.

Howard bucked up as Vince bore down, their cocks rubbing against each other. Vince was leaking steadily, his precome warm and slick and sticky against Howard’s cock. They rocked together for a few minutes, Vince red-faced and wild-haired as he thrust against Howard’s dick and belly, smearing a wet trail against Howard’s skin.

Vince reached down to palm his cock, steadying it as he thrust harder. The precome that had leaked onto Howard’s cock and stomach was starting to grow tacky and uncomfortably sticky, and he slid down Howard’s body until he was sat on his feet, straddling Howard’s calves between his legs. He sucked a trail of kisses down Howard’s chest and stomach, licking the shiny places where his precome had pooled, tasting the unique, salty flavor of his own essence mingled with Howard’s sweat. It was filthy and  _ perfect, _ and Vince moaned needily as he licked up the length of Howard’s cock, lapping at it like an ice lolly on a hot afternoon. 

He continued moaning and gasping, the vibrations of his hot breath stimulating Howard until he could take no more. Howard met Vince’s unfocused eyes, still so blue and familiar and beloved, and desperately wished he could shed his own inhibitions so completely. He was getting better at giving himself over to his pleasure, but it was a hard-won victory, and Howard  _ knew _ that if he was under the influence of anything that would alter his normally-staid consciousness, he’d be just as lewd and greedy with Vince as Vince was with him, and the thought thrilled him. He mentally added it to his “post-pregnancy to-do list” right after “give Vince the bumming of a lifetime”. 

Vince gave a final suck to the head of Howard’s cock and released it with a  _ pop _ . He bit his lip and ruffled his hair coyly, like a naughty schoolgirl, then sucked his own fingers into his wicked mouth. He shut his eyes and moaned again, then took them out. “And your arse,” Vince growled drunkenly. He trailed two wet fingers up the crack of Howard’s arse, seeking the small, wrinkled skin of his hole and pressing both inside without teasing. “Love how well you take me, Big Man. Love that you act so pompous and upright out there with all them people but in  _ here _ ” (he crooked his fingers wickedly, at just the right angle to caress Howard’s prostate and make him yelp) “you take it like a slag.” He leaned down and licked Howard’s ear, “And you love it, you dirty little slut.” He pulled his fingers out almost completely, then drove them back inside, hitting the firm bundle of nerves dead-on. Howard whined and bore down, trying to take Vince’s fingers deeper, desperate for  _ more _ . 

Vince’s eyes glittered wickedly as he watched the greedy way Howard took his fingers. He slid up the bed, ignoring Howard’s plaintive whine, to grab the lube from the nightstand drawer, then drizzled a generous amount onto his fingers before plunging them back inside Howard. Howard whined in relief, clenching around Vince’s fingers; the heat and tightness of Howard’s hole made Vince light-headed with the need to be inside him, to be surrounded by that warmth and the gentle sucking pressure of Howard’s body...  “’Magine one day, you fuckin’ me? So big and tall, bet everyone looks at us and thinks, ‘oh, the big one fucks the little girlie one.’ They have no idea… no idea what a right bottom bitch you are, Howard, ain’t you? Say yes, Howard.” 

“Yes,” moaned Howard obediently. “Fuck, I love being fucked by you...”

“Good,” crooned Vince into his ear, causing Howard to nearly spend himself upon hearing the praise. Vince continued, “Even when you do fuck me, we both know you’ll be bottoming from the top, won’t you? You love it, you slag. Fuck, Howard,” he moaned, his breath growing faster, more ragged, as his clever fingers rubbed at Howard’s prostate.

Howard was nearly blind with need--he couldn’t see anything but Vince’s body looming over his own, couldn’t smell anything but the scent of sex and Vince’s arousal mingling with his own, couldn’t  _ feel _ anything but Vince’s body against his. They both had to be close--how could Vince possibly stand it, how could he wait any longer?

So dizzy was he with arousal, Howard hadn’t even realized he’d spoken those last words aloud. Vince responded by smirking and withdrawing his fingers, making a show of spreading lube onto his erection. “You can’t wait no more, can you, Howard?” he growled, pushing Howard onto all fours and kneeling behind him. He pushed his penis between Howard’s cheeks, sliding up and down, teasing the head of his cock against Howard’s stretched hole, but not pressing inside, not yet.

“Fuck me Vince, please,  _ please _ fuck me,” Howard begged, not caring how desperate he must seem. He  _ was _ desperate, desperate to be fucked, to have Vince inside him, as close as two men could be. 

Vince was drunk enough that it took a few tries to line everything up properly. He had to hold his cock at the base in one hand and spread Howard wide with the other, but he finally managed it, sinking inside with one long, deep thrust, moaning as he marveled at the easy, eager way Howard took him.

“Gonna f-fuck you so good, Howard,” said Vince, tripping over the words as slid inside, deep enough that his pubic hair crinkled against the soft, white skin of Howard’s plump arse. “Gonna breed you like a fuckin’ broodmare, Howard, always want you like this, want you round and heavy with  _ my  _ baby. Gonna put a baby in you… want to fill you up with my cum and give you my babies, yeah....” His breaths grew shallower, his thrusts erratic into Howard. “You want it, Howard, tell me you want me to fill you with my cum.” 

In truth, Howard never wanted to be pregnant again, but he played along with Vince. “Yes, Vince, God, fill me up. Fuck a baby into me.” The words buzzed deliciously on his lips as he said them, even though they were just part of a roleplaying game for him. “Um…” He thought for a moment, trying to decide what would turn Vince on, settling on a simple, concise phrase. “ _ Own _ me.” 

His words had the exact effect that Howard had hoped they would. “Aw, yes, Howard!” Vince cried. “I’m gonna come so hard you’ll get pregnant again.” He began fucking Howard even harder, his hipbones bumping Howard’s arsecheeks with an audible  _ smack _ from the punishing rhythm of his thrusts. 

“Come on, Vince,” Howard gasped, reaching beneath his belly to stroke himself desperately. He was close, so close, but he wanted Vince to come first; he loved making Vince lose control. Nothing made him feel more powerful, more sexy, than feeling Vince twitch and spend himself inside him. “Fill me, fill me  _ up _ \--”    
  
That did it. Howard tightened his muscles around Vince’s cock as his lover let out a noise that could only be described as a howl. He drove himself deep, hands grasping Howard’s belly to anchor himself as his hips stuttered and his cock released pulse after pulse of semen into Howard’s warm, clenching hole, Howard’s muscles fluttering around him as though milking every last drop of Vince’s cum from his balls.

The sensation of Vince’s fully-seated cock twitching within him, coupled with the absolutely  _ pornographic _ yell Vince made as he came, pushed Howard over the edge. Tugging at his erection in desperation, Howard thrust into his hands and fell apart with a broken cry, spilling semen onto the bed beneath him, spurt after spurt pooling on the sheets.

After what felt like ages, Vince finally came back to himself, limbs heavy and mind empty from what was possibly the most intense orgasm of his  _ life _ . Through his pleasure-soaked haze, Vince could hear Howard’s orgasmic shout, could feel the way his lover’s muscles rippled around Vince’s oversensitive, recently-spent cock as he came. Vince stroked Howard’s hair, pressing sloppy, drunken kisses along his back as he soothed him through his orgasm. “That’s right, baby, come for me, let go… fuck yeah, ‘oward...”

Howard finished with one last guttural cry, weak and shaking with his release, then collapsed face-down onto the mattress. The position, combined with Vince’s weight on his back, put an uncomfortable pressure on his belly. As loath as he was to move, he wriggled out from underneath Vince to turn onto his side. Vince slid from Howard’s back to the mattress with a soft  _ thud _ and a groan.

“Fuck, that was good,” Vince murmured. “Think I came so hard I sprained my dick.”

“Ugh, I  _ hope _ not,” Howard said, rather emphatically. He hadn’t smoked in ages (Vince didn’t like it, and besides, he was pregnant and didn’t want to risk Cassie’s health), but Howard would have killed for the cliched post-coital fag at that moment. It was yet another thing to add to his post-pregnancy to-do list...

Vince chuckled, running a possessive hand over Howard’s arse. “You’re a right slag, Howard,” he said hazily, so affectionately that Howard could do nothing more than hum and smile. One of his fingers dipped between Howard’s cheeks to tease at his hole, which was wet and leaking cum. “God, I love coming inside you, love filling you up with my cum...”

“I like it, too,” Howard admitted. Although he’d become much more comfortable with his sexuality since he and Vince had started shagging, it still made him flush to say something so filthy aloud.

Vince, however, growled his appreciation into Howard’s mouth, snogging him deeply and thoroughly. He broke the kiss suddenly, leaning off the bed to grasp something from the rumpled sheets before snuggling up against Howard’s side.

Something cool and rubbery prodded between Howard’s cheeks. Still fucked out from his recent orgasm, it took a moment before Howard realized what was happening. “Vince,” he groaned, “tell me you are not using Tony Harrison’s gift on me right now.”

“Shhh, Howard,” Vince slurred into his ear, the pressure increasing as he pushed the toy against Howard’s stretched, wet hole. “‘M just--just tryna keep the cum in, so’s I can make you pregnant all over again...”

Howard shivered, suddenly less opposed to the idea of using the toy Tony Harrison had gifted them than he thought he ought to be.

Vince prised Howard’s cheeks apart, leaning down to watch as Howard’s rim, loose and red, easily swallowed the tacky toy, millimeter by millimeter, while Howard trembled, on the edge of overstimulation. The toy was thick, almost twice the girth of Vince’s erection at its widest point, and Vince’s cock gave a feeble leap as he watched Howard’s rim stretch around it. “Fuck, you’re so  _ loose _ ,” he breathed, suddenly curious to see just how much Howard could take.

He tapped the base of the toy with his palm, making the rubber vibrate a bit. Howard bit his lip, but he was unable to stop the low, shuddering moan from escaping. “You like that, don’t you,” Vince murmured, “you like being full like this, want to keep my cum inside you...” He pushed the toy into Howard, all the way until the flared base was flush against Howard’s skin, then paused to stare appreciatively at Howard’s arse. “I should make you wear this all the time, so you’re always ready to be fucked--”

His words made Howard clench around the plug. He shifted, turning to face Vince, and the toy moved inside him, putting pressure on his prostate, and he groaned. “I’m so  _ full _ ,” he breathed, “never been so full before...”

Vince grasped his arse and rubbed his soft cock, still sticky with lube and drying cum, against his lover’s belly. “Wanna fill you up all the time, wish I could be inside you always--”

They kissed each other sloppily, working themselves up again, until Howard’s stomach started rumbling. The noise was conspicuously loud, and Vince paused, breaking the kiss. “Oh shit, Howard--you haven’t eaten--”

“Don’t care,” Howard whined, but the effect was ruined by an especially loud grumble. Vince narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Fine,” Howard sighed. “I probably  _ should _ eat something...” He propped himself up on an arm, pushing himself upright. The toy in his arse moved again, and he shuddered.

“You stay right here,” Vince scolded, stumbling out of bed to rummage through the dresser for something comfortable to wear. Still drunk, he swayed on his feet a bit and had to use one hand to steady himself as he picked through the contents of the drawer. “I think we have some leftover curry from yesterday, if Naboo and Bollo haven’t gotten munched out and eaten it all. I’ll heat it up and bring you some tea, yeah?”

Howard nodded, thankful that he wouldn’t have to face their remaining guests in his disheveled, recently-fucked state. “You take such good care of me, Vince,” he said, his heart squeezing in his chest.

Vince smirked, pulling a long, soft tunic over his head, getting stuck for a moment. “’S no problem,” he said, voice muffled by the fabric. “’Sides, you can thank me later...” His head popped out of the neck of the tunic; he was grinning devilishly, leaving no doubt in Howard’s mind as to what, exactly, he meant by that.

Blushing, Howard pulled the duvet over his naked, sweat-and-cum-streaked body, yawning widely. “Don’t make me wait too long,” he teased. “Otherwise, I might fall asleep before round two...”

That was enough to inspire Vince to get dressed quickly. 

  
  


Vince emerged into the hallway without having even brushed his hair or rinsed the smeared makeup off his face. He knew he looked as shagged-out as he felt, but he was surprisingly unselfconscious about it, especially for a man who barely even left the flat to run to the grocery store without first putting on his face and obsessing over the perfect outfit for the occasion.

The music was still blaring through the flat, and all the lights were still on, but all the guests were draped over the furniture (or off it), absolutely passed out. Vince nearly tripped over Dennis and Kirk, both passed out on the floor, on his way to the kitchen, trying to be quiet so as not to wake anyone. He reached the refrigerator and extricated the curry, heating it quickly and as quietly as he could while he set the kettle to boil. While he waited for the food and tea to be ready, he surveyed the flat: Saboo and Tony Harrison were slumped over the DJ table (he reminded himself to write Tony Harrison a thank-you note later, that gift was  _ genius _ ), while Naboo and Bollo were sprawled on the sofa. Vince hazily remembered tossing Fossil out bodily and glowed with pride at the memory. Anthrax and Ebola were nowhere to be seen, but on the counter sat a black purse replete with chains and grommets--obviously belonging to one of the goth girls. He wondered if they’d ever come back… had they succeeded in their quest to get abducted and impregnated with alien babies? 

Vince was startled from his musings by the beep of the microwave. He hastily removed the food, placed some water and tea on a tray, and carefully weaved his way back to the room and his lover. His stomach twinged with excitement at the thought of sating more than one appetite before the night was through. 


	30. Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince reassures Howard about some very real doubts he’s having in the days leading up to the birth. Somehow, Naboo ends up giving the couple sex advice and hates himself the entire time. There is fluff, there is a little smut, and eventually… there are labor pains! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're back... and shit's about to get real! Sorry for having left you hanging--we'd initially hoped to have this posted much sooner, but our publishing schedule was delayed due to the Australian wildfires. If you haven't heard, Australia is experiencing a catastrophic fire season which has been exacerbated by a drastically underfunded firefighting program([more info](https://www.reuters.com/article/us-australia-bushfires/australian-firefighters-try-to-control-bushfires-ahead-of-hot-days-idUSKBN1YC00P)). Please consider donating to the NSW Australian Rural fire services [here](https://www.rfs.nsw.gov.au/volunteer/support-your-local-brigade).
> 
> As always, much love to A_Little_Boosh_Maid for all her help whipping this chapter into shape. <3

Howard stared at himself in the mirror and frowned. He was only two weeks away from his due date, and frankly, he was ready for this whole pregnancy thing to be over: he was bloated, he had to pee all the time, and he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in literal _weeks_ , as little Cassie seemed to be something of a night owl and kicked him all night long. He imagined she would have quite the future as a football player, considering the strength of her kicks. 

“Whatcha doing, Howard?” Vince chirped, ducking into the room. He was wearing his dressing gown, a slinky purple silk thing, his hair still wet from the shower.

“Nothing,” Howard lied, still frowning and a bit embarrassed to have been caught staring at his topless reflection in the mirror. He was not a vain man, not really, but the drastic changes his body had undergone during pregnancy made him self-conscious.

At first, he’d hated the burdensome belly and his growing tits, but Vince’s appreciation for his pregnant body had made Howard feel a little more confident, and even sexy. But now, with Cassie’s birth growing ever more imminent, he was facing an altogether different kind of anxiety about his body--would Vince still find him sexy even _after_ Cassie was born?

The books he’d checked out of the library had been clear that pregnancy would change his body permanently. All the Jazzercise in the world couldn’t get rid of the stretch marks and loose skin, and Howard, who had struggled with his weight even before his unlikely abduction and impregnation, was afraid he’d never manage to lose the baby weight--or his pregnancy tits. Vince was so slim and beautiful, and even if he was no longer the Prince of the Camden social scene, he still attracted attention from men and women much more attractive than Howard. How could Howard ever hope to compete with Vince’s many admirers?

“Don’t look like nothin’,” Vince murmured, coming up behind Howard to rest his face on Howard’s shoulder and wrap his arms around Howard’s middle. His stomach was so large that Vince could barely clasp his arms around it, and Howard winced. “What’s wrong?”

Internally, Howard cursed his lover for being able to read him so easily. “Nothing’s _wrong,_ ” he said, a bit too harshly.

Vince let go of Howard’s belly and spun him around to look him in the face. “C’mon, Howard, you can tell me if you got something on your mind. It’s normal to be anxious... you’re going to give birth in a couple weeks, you know...”

Howard sighed. “It’s stupid.” Vince looked up at him, his face full of concern, and Howard took a deep breath, steeling himself. Their relationship was still new, and it was Howard’s very first romantic relationship of any kind (unless you counted the many yearning one-sided infatuations he’d had over the years), but even he knew that honesty between partners was an important part of a healthy relationship. “It’s just--will you still _want_ me even after I’ve given birth? You know, when I’m fat and sleep-deprived and my hormones are going crazy?” 

Vince startled. He’d long known that Howard lacked confidence in his appearance, but he’d thought that Howard had gotten past that. After all, Vince had been sure to let Howard know how sexy he found him, how much he _adored_ Howard, every bit of him--but perhaps he had been too focused on reassuring Howard his pregnancy body was well sexy, and had neglected to mention how he sexy _Howard_ was, pregnant or not. He’d certainly lusted after Howard for years, _decades_ even, long before his pregnancy.

“Howard,” Vince soothed, wrapping his arms around his lover as far as they would go around his belly. “I know the last 8 months have been… a lot.” He chuckled. That was the understatement of the century. “But I’m so proud of you, Howard. I always have been, but now more than ever. You’re carrying _our baby_ , Howard. You’re growing her inside you. And soon she’ll be here. And no matter what happens to your body during or after all that, the fact remains you grew and carried our daughter. And… and I love that, Howard. Regardless of what you look like.” He pressed a kiss to Howard’s collarbone. “I always had a thing for you, you know.” 

“You did?”

“Don’t play dumb, Howard, don’t suit you at all,” Vince grinned, a small blush creeping into his cheeks. 

“Since when?” Howard asked. 

“Since _always_ . Since you used to keep me safe from bullies at school, and when we was teenagers and I thought you were so handsome and scraggly and tragic, and when you took me under your wing at the zoo, and when we were in a band together. And now,” he said, trailing kisses along Howard’s throat **.** “And after, too. It’s _you_ I love, Howard. I don’t care what the packaging looks like.” 

Howard swallowed the lump in his throat and kissed his lover passionately. 

“That being said,” said Vince softly, breaking away, “you have got a nice a package,” he added with a grope and a wink. 

Later that night, as they lay in bed tangled up and both as comfortable as they could manage, Howard warred with his self-loathing thoughts again, but this time he had Vince’s promises to use as a shield against them. He wasn’t sure _how_ someone like Vince could possibly be attracted to someone like him, but all evidence pointed to the affirmative. He’d simply have to trust that Vince was telling the truth, and no matter what scars or after-effects this pregnancy had on his body, Vince would love him regardless. 

The anxious whisperings of his low self-image never permanently left him, but Vince’s words, “It’s _you_ I love, Howard,” echoed in his mind enough that they rose above the din of his own negativity. He reached over and entwined his fingers with Vince’s, who even in his sleep, held on to Howard’s hand. Howard smiled to himself, and drifted off. 

Three days out from Cassie’s due date, Howard came into the bedroom to find Vince carefully folding clothes--both Howard’s and the baby’s, he noted--in pale pink tissue paper and placing them in a duffel bag. 

“Getting rid of us already?” he said with half a grin, teasing Vince, who startled, as though he’d been in his own little world, before smiling sheepishly and cocking his head. 

“Well… all them books say you should have a ‘go bag’, y’know, for when it’s time and you ain’t thinking about packing up your things. This way they’re all ready to go.”

“But Vince,” Howard reminded him, “we’re having the baby _here._ The Shaman will come to the flat for the delivery, we’ve been over this.” 

“I know,” said Vince, scuffing the floor with his boot. “Just… I just want to make sure we do everything right, just in case we need to go someplace, y’know? Also, it’s what’s done. Says so in _Facts for Reading When You’re Breeding.”_

Howard smiled and placed a kiss atop Vince’s head. “Thank you,” he said, “for doing this.” 

Vince smiled again and shrugged. “Made you a special dressing gown,” he said, trying to make it sound casual and nonchalant, but Howard knew Vince well enough to know that his lover was _dying_ to tell him all about it. “It’s for when people want to stop by and coo at the baby, but after the birth, so you look pulled together but also so everyone knows what an ordeal you’ve been through and they oughtn’t stay too long.” 

“Can I see?”

“It’s wrapped up. It’ll be a nice surprise, after,” said Vince, a sly smile playing about his lips. 

Howard was so overwhelmed with emotion. He wanted to cry--and he wasn’t sure how much of his weepiness was pregnancy hormones and stress over the impending birth, or the fact that he’d finally begun to acknowledge his feelings and was feeling them with a vengeance. “I’m so lucky to have you, Vince. Anyone would be. You take such good care of me.” 

“Got Cassie’s first outfits, too. Packed three, just ‘cos we won’t know what she likes to wear til we meet her.” 

It was such a Vince thing to say that it made a warm rush of affection pool in Howard’s chest. “I love you,” said Howard, enveloping Vince in a warm embrace. 

“Love you, too, Howard,” said Vince. Both men held each other quietly in their shared room, knowing that soon, it would never be just the two of them again. Sure, they’d have times when they were alone together, but their lives were going to change forever, inextricably, in a matter of hours. They’d always been Vince and Howard. Soon, they’d forever be Vince and Howard and Cassie. Man, wife, and alien--a family. 

The moonlight filtered through the blinds and left silvery stripes upon the not-sleeping forms of Vince and Howard. They lay, entangled with each other, each shifting position every ten minutes or so, completely unable to rest as the bedside clocked ticked out the seconds until midnight. 

Today was the due date. 

The only sounds in the room were the huffing of sleepless breaths, heaved sighs of impatience, rustling sheets, and the nearly audible tension in the room. 

The dawn did not bring much relief. Vince and Howard spent much of the day in silent thought, each man tangled in his own contemplations. They drank endless pots of herbal tea, paced the carpets thin, made weak attempts at conversation… the flat was heavy with an air of anxious anticipation. Every time Howard moved, Vince was on him like a hawk, ready to help and assist (even for mundane tasks like using the loo). When evening fell, and no sign of the baby had come, both men were tense and exhausted and fell into a fitful, dream-filled sleep. 

Cassie’s due date came and went. By day three, Howard was mad with anxiety. He paced the flat constantly, unable to sit still. It was making Vince dizzy.

“I don’t know what’s taking so long,” Howard sighed, cradling his belly as he lumbered across the small sitting room yet again. “She should have been born three days ago! Something’s not right, Vince, I can _feel_ it!”

“Don’t worry about it, Howard,” Vince said. “Remember, she’s only half-human. Maybe Uranian babies take longer. Besides, babies come on their own time--sometimes early, sometimes late. I’m sure little Cassie is just fine.”

“But Vince,” Howard whined for the tenth time, “what if she’s _not_ fine?”

Though he affected nonchalance to avoid making Howard’s anxiety even worse, Vince was admittedly starting to worry. “Look, if you’re that worried about it, we can go see Naboo...” he offered.

“Yes, let’s go see him! Right now!”

“I don’t think he’s home right now,” Vince said, reaching for the pendant that hung around his neck. “He and Bollo went to that weird Shaman herb swap thing, remember? They won’t be back until late tonight. That’s why I have this amulet--to summon him when your labor starts, or in case of emergency--”

“This _is_ an emergency!” Howard insisted. “Our daughter could be in danger--”

Vince shook his head. “Howard, you know that Naboo will turn his back on us if we misuse the amulet again. Remember what he said yesterday?”

Howard grimaced, remembering. He’d convinced himself that his daughter was having a seizure in utero yesterday afternoon, interrupting Naboo as he’d been cooking his latest batch of methamphetamine in the old, broken-down Zooniverse van he parked down the block in front of the abandoned warehouse that, until recently, had used to house an illegal Mafia gambling den whose patrons had been some of Naboo’s best customers until the unfortunate police bust that shut it down. The pain had turned out to be nothing more than gas from eating too much cabbage sabzi, and Naboo had warned in no uncertain terms that if he got _one_ more false alarm, he would ignore their next call. 

“C’mon, have a seat,” Vince said, patting the couch cushion next to him. “You’re making me dizzy with all the pacing. ’Sides, there’s an Ancient Aliens marathon on soon...” While Vince normally found anything to do with ancient history well boring, he and Howard had recently started watching the show as a way to learn more about their daughter’s alien heritage, and had quickly become hooked on the show. 

Howard plopped down onto the couch next to his lover, resting his head in Vince’s lap as he flicked through the channels. The familiar theme music filled the flat, and Vince began carding his fingers through Howard’s hair as the opening credits scrolled across the screen.

“I love you, you know,” Howard murmured, his voice muffled by Vince’s thighs. “I know I’m acting crazy, and I’ll probably _keep_ acting crazy for a while. It’s all the hormones, scrambling my brain--”

“I love you too, you pregnant Northern madman,” Vince said, twirling a lock of Howard’s curly hair around his finger, wondering absently if he could convince Howard to keep his hair long after he’d given birth. “Now shut up so we can watch some telly, yeah?”

Howard grumbled, but did just that. Soon, the two men were completely engrossed in the programme, their worries about their daughter fading into the background as they learned about the amazing feats Cassie’s ancestors had accomplished, long before they’d mastered the miracle of male pregnancy. 

Hours later, sometime between the witching hour and dawn, Vince and Howard were startled awake by the arrival of Naboo, Bollo, and the rest of the Shaman. Apparently, they’d fallen asleep on the couch watching Ancient Aliens, and were currently being awoken by a horde of magical, and possibly ancient, alien-shaman. 

“Naboo,” said Howard, running a hand through his mussed hair, “thank God you’re here. Why hasn’t he baby come yet? Is something wrong? Is she okay? She hasn’t--”

“Shut up, or I will murder you and everything you love,” snapped Saboo. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, as if he were coming down off a particularly intense bender, which would explain the harsh-even-for-Saboo reaction. 

Naboo heaved the most long-suffering sigh in history. “It’s fine. Look, come here, I’ll do a quick scan if it makes you shut up.” Howard approached Naboo, who muttered something under his breath, ran his hands in some kind of mysterious wave around Howard, and managed to make a faint green glow appear around Howard’s middle. “You’re fine, the baby’s fine. Just still cooking in there, I guess.” 

“I told you she was fine, Howard,” whispered Vince soothingly. 

“What should I do?” Howard asked, no less panicked than before despite Naboo’s reassurances. “All this waiting making me insane! Isn’t there anything we can do to speed her along?”

“Pitocin,” said Tony Harrison simply. Everyone ignored him. 

“I never thought I’d ever have to say this,” Naboo grumbled, “but as your Magical Midwife, I advise you two to have sex. A lot of it. Constantly.”

“What?” Howard asked in disbelief.

“What?” Vince echoed, equally disbelievingly. 

“Yeah,” Naboo said, face screwing up into an expression of disgust. “I hate everything about this, but evidently sperm has something called ‘prostaglandins’, some sort of hormone or whatever that induces labor.” 

“So you’re saying that I should bum Howard silly to make the baby come out?” Vince asked.

“That’s _exactly_ what I’m saying,” Naboo sighed. “Can you guys leave and get to it? I’ve got a blunt here that won’t smoke itself.”

“Can I watch?” asked Tony Harrison, leering at Vince. Saboo audibly gagged. 

“Keep it down, yeah?” Naboo pleaded. “Unlike my colleague over here, I find your human urges disgusting.”

“Our sex life is not _disgusting_ ,” Howard protested. “It’s a physical expression of our emotional connection, a natural, beautiful physical manifestation of our love...”

“If you weren’t nine months pregnant, I would push you down the stairs,” Naboo threatened. “Actually, maybe I’ll do it anyway, see if _that_ will knock the baby out of you...”

Turning pale, Vince and Howard wasted no time in heading to their room, to do exactly as the doctor ordered. 

“I don’t know if I can go _again_ ,” Vince said. He and Howard had spent the last three days doing little else beside making love, sleeping, and calling for takeout, and to be honest, Vince was pretty sure that if they kept on like this, he would never be able to get an erection again.

Howard closed his hand around Vince’s limp penis, stroking gently. Vince winced--his cock was feeling a bit sore from too much sex. _Everything_ was a bit sore--muscles he didn’t even know he had felt strained and tired from trying to imaginatively screw Howard into labor. 

“You keep saying you want to fuck a baby into me,” Howard said pleadingly, “why not fuck a baby _out_ of me?”

Vince’s cock twitched a bit, and Howard smiled in satisfaction as he reached for the lube. Pausing to squirt a generous amount into his palm, he continued stroking Vince, all the while murmuring filth. “You can’t fuck another baby into me until Cassie comes out, anyway. You want that, Vince, don’t you?”

Groaning, Vince surrendered to Howard’s pleas. He’d expected Howard to be insatiable after his initial foray over the physical boundary, but even so, even his wildest fantasies had never featured a three day sexathon with Howard quite so enthused. 

“Let me do the work,” Howard pleaded. “You just lie back...”

Vince’s cock twitched again at the words. Even though Vince was a thorough, enthusiastic lover (especially for Howard), part of him _loved_ that Howard had gone from blushing almost-virgin to taking complete control and letting Vince relax while he pleasured them both. 

Howard straddled Vince, his back to Vince’s chest as he reached down to grasp Vince’s erection by the base. Biting his lip in concentration, he sank down onto Vince’s cock, his body so well-used he didn’t have to stretch himself at all. Vince watched, impressed, as Howard took him all in one go, feeling a strange sense of pride in the way that Howard had grown so confident in his pleasure in so short a time. 

Howard leaned forward, resting his palms on the mattress and supporting his weight with his arms as he rocked his hips back and forth. Like this, Vince could see _everything_ \--his erection slipping in and out of Howard’s hole, which was red from all the recent use. He fumbled about in the sheets for the lube, squirting a bit right onto the place where they were joined. He _loved_ the sight of Howard’s strong back, broad shoulders, the familiar latticework scar on the right one… his Howard was so strong, so big, so capable, and most of all, so full of Vince’s cock. He moaned aloud as pleasure spiked through him. 

Howard moaned back, a series of small, soft little _ohs_ as he found his spot and used Vince’s prick to stimulate it. Vince was unable to do much more than curl his fingers around Howard’s cock, letting him fuck himself on Vince’s hand with every little thrust of his hips.

“Look at you, fucking yourself on me,” Vince growled, “didn’t even need to prep yourself, my beautiful slut, taking me all at once...”

“Only a slut for you,” Howard whined, grinding his hips in small circles as he bore down against Vince’s cock. “Only ever wanted you like this...”

Vince could feel the familiar twinge in his lower belly, knowing he was going to come soon. The sensation was almost painful, oversensitive and overused as he was. He gripped Howard’s hips and rammed himself into Howard, going as deep as he could. 

“Gonna fuck the baby out of you, just like you wanted Howard,” he moaned. “Then I’ll fuck a new one into you, and--oh _fuck,_ Howard--”

“ _Yes,”_ Howard whined, and it was all over--Vince came, though it wasn’t the spectacular, mind-numbing orgasm he usually associated with sex with Howard. Howard could feel Vince’s cock tremble, a few weak spurts releasing within him, then felt Vince soften and slip out. 

Vince threw his head back on the pillow with a sigh. “‘M fuckin’ exhausted, Howard,” he panted. “I love you, but I’ve got to rest.” 

Howard climbed up the bed, his hard cock jumping between his legs as he changed positions. “Not before you’ve made me come,” he growled, grabbing Vince’s hand in his own and putting them both on his cock. Bone-tired and fucked out, Vince lay lax on the mattress, letting Howard use him for his pleasure as he stroked himself with both their hands.

“Greedy slag,” said Vince grinning weakly. 

“Yeah,” Howard agreed, tightening his grip. It didn’t take long before he was coming too, a small dribble of semen that pooled in his foreskin and dripped onto Vince’s chest.

Panting loudly, his thighs aching and hole throbbing, Howard sank down into Vince, using him as a particularly bony mattress. Both men were asleep in minutes, utterly spent and exhausted by their sex marathon. 

Vince was awakened at three in the morning by a frantic Howard, who was clutching at his belly, looking worried.

“Vince,” Howard called.

Vince made an unintelligible sound and tried to bury his face into his pillow.

Howard grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him. “Vince.” Vince didn’t move, so Howard shook him again. “Vince. Vince? Vince!”

That last one was practically a shout. “What, Howard?” Vince grumbled, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Please let me sleep. I promise I’ll fuck you again in the morning, but I can’t, not now--”

“Vince!” Howard shouted. “It’s happening!”

“What’s happening?” Vince asked, still half-asleep and completely confused.

“Cassie is coming!” Howard cried. “I’m in labor!”

Now completely awake, Vince scrambled to his feet. “Oh, _shit_ ,” he muttered. “Are you sure?”

Howard’s face screwed up in pain as he rubbed his stomach. “Yes I’m sure, you nonce!”

Vince leapt from the bed and tied his dressing gown on haphazardly as he ran out the door to go upstairs and fetch Naboo. He turned, and running back pressed a kiss to Howard’s forehead. “You’re gonna do great, love. I’ll be right back!” and he ran upstairs to the attic-cum-Shaman-penthouse to inform Naboo of the wonderful news.


	31. Thirty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince runs upstairs to wake the Shaman Council from their drug-induced stupor  
> to alert them.... Luckily, Naboo’s read a book about this, and he’s got a satchel full of drugs. What, you expect the Shaman to deliver a baby sober? HAHAHA, NO. THIS IS THE CRUNCH.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heaps of love go firstly to our beautiful genius of a beta, [A_Little_Boosh_Maid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid)?  
> , for all her help, and secondly to all of our readers for sticking out this journey to the end! There's one more chapter after this, but for all of you who've been so desperate to meet Cassie, we hope we've done your patience justice. Thanks from the bottom of both our weird little hearts.

Vince raced up the stairs to the attic, his dressing gown flapping about, barely concealing his nakedness. He was still covered with sweat and the evidence of his and Howard’s three-day sex marathon, but he wasn’t thinking about that--his mind was wholly focused on rousing the Shaman Council from whatever drug-induced blackout they’d had tonight, and getting Howard and Cassie through the labor and delivery safely.

His heart was racing with adrenaline as he took the stairs two at a time. Finally, he burst into Naboo’s attic room, panting so hard from his sprint up the stairs that he could barely breathe, much less shout the Shaman awake.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, he glanced around the room. The Council was sprawled haphazardly over the floor, fully dressed, various pills and vials and other paraphernalia strewn around the messy room. Vince panicked--what if he couldn’t wake them in time? He knew nothing about labor and delivery--in fact, he had no idea how Cassie was even supposed to come out of Howard! His mind raced with one horrifying image after another, and Vince did the only thing he could do: he screamed. 

The sound was loud, primal, and earsplitting. It did, however, have the desired effect: the Shaman shot awake immediately. 

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” Naboo mumbled, sitting up and squinting at the dark room. 

“I swear to all the gods old and new, Naboo, I hate your house and your pets,” groused Saboo. “And get your tentacles off me you filthy--”

“Oh, they weren’t  _ on  _ you, Sunshine,” spat Tony Harrison. “Your virtue’s safe with me, but I don’t know what you’re worried about. Everyone knows you’re a slag after you’ve had a few huffs of poppers, anyway.” He rubbed his forehead with his tentacles. “Why’s Howard’s wife screaming like that?”

“It’s Howard!” cried Vince, his voice cracking, “I… I think he’s gone into labor?” It came out as a half-shrieked question rather than a statement of fact. A chorus of “oh shit” and “fuck me” and “you’ve got to be kidding” and “an outrage!” filled the room. 

“Vince,” said Naboo calmly. “It’s very important that you remain calm. I need you to go downstairs, and--”

Naboo’s instructions were cut short from a violent cry from downstairs. “Vince! What the hell are you doing? Where is Naboo?” 

Vince’s eyes filled with tears. “Hurry, Naboo, come on!” He physically grabbed the Shaman by the sleeves and dragged him upright. 

“Awright, awright, I’m up. Go downstairs, be there in a minute.” 

Vince bit his lip and ran back downstairs. 

Saboo got to his feet and primly smoothed his wrinkled robes. “Okay, ballbags. This is the Crunch. You wanted to charitably support the Uranus-Earth Breeding Program? This is it.” 

“I suppose it’s too late to rescind our offer,” murmured Dennis from the corner. Another howl from Howard downstairs answered his question. 

“Wash your hands, you filthy cretins, then meet me down there,” Naboo ordered calmly. 

“Shit off,” said Tony Harrison, “we’re all still half-pissed!” 

“Vince and Howard can  _ not,  _ under any circumstances, know that,” said Naboo threateningly. “Let’s go. We have an alien to deliver.” 

A few minutes later, scrubbed up and gradually losing the last of their high, the Shaman Council burst through the door to Vince and Howard’s bedroom. 

Howard lay in the bed, flushed and looking terrified. Sweat matted his curls, plastering them to his face, and Vince looked little better, pale and wide-eyed in fear. “Do something, Naboo,” Vince pleaded, his voice soft in terror and sounding so small and childlike it almost stirred an emotion in Naboo’s heart-region. 

Almost. “Christy, what is that  _ smell?” _ Naboo griped, pinching his nose. 

Kirk waggled his nose and took a deep inhale. “Smells like bumsex,” he said, practically salivating.

Tony Harrison waggled his tongue, as if trying to  _ taste _ the air. “I concur,” he leched. “Someone’s been playing ‘hide the courgette’.”

“It was  _ prescribed! _ ” Howard moaned pathetically from where he lay sweating in the sheets.

Vince turned to Naboo, eyes flashing as he stared down the tiny shaman. “You told us that we needed to bum to induce labor! Well, it worked! Howard’s in labor! Do something!”

Naboo pushed up his sleeves. He was still half-pissed, and sincerely regretting his decision not to sneak an emergency hookah before dealing with this mess. Naboo might have needed his wits about him for the delicate procedure he was about to perform, but judging from Vince’s state of complete and total panic,  _ he _ could use some medical-grade marijuana to calm his nerves. 

There was no way Naboo could get through this delivery with Vince shrieking in his ear, that much was certain. He nodded at his familiar. “Bollo.” Bollo needed no further instructions, and left the room for a moment, only to return with a psychedelic purple tie-dyed doctor’s satchel. Naboo rummaged around and withdrew a brownie that had obviously seen better days. “Vince, eat this.” 

Vince stared at the brownie in confusion. “Why? What’s in it? What’re you gonna do about Howard?”

“Just something to help you calm the fuck down,” Naboo said, tapping his foot impatiently as he watched Vince suspiciously eyeing the brownie. “If you don’t eat it, I’ll be forced to use a syringe and I don’t want to see you cry in public. Eat.” 

Pouting like a child, Vince nibbled the corner of the brownie. “Howard,” he said, not as a name but as a command. 

“I’m getting there,” said Naboo. “Saboo, I require assistance.” Saboo came forward, trying not to smirk at the lunacy of the situation. He knew better than any of them that this was all playacting, that exactly  _ zero  _ of them had ever delivered a baby, alien or otherwise, and they had no idea what they were doing. Still, he maintained his stoic facade in an attempt to fool the pregnant man and his pretty wife. 

Naboo and Saboo made a show of rummaging for supplies in the purple bag. The other Shaman watched Howard intently--having never experienced the pain of labor, they found watching it fascinating. 

Howard continued to thrash uncomfortably. Vince, still nibbling on the brownie, smoothed the lines from Howard’s forehead and attempted to keep his hair out of his face. Howard whimpered almost constantly, the steady stream of pathetic noises punctuated every so often by a groan or yelp of pain. Finally he cried out, “Naboo, for chrissakes, give me  _ something  _ for this pain!” 

“Awright,” Naboo said impatiently. He withdrew a syringe, holding it to the light to make sure the right amount of serum was inside. Howard flinched, and Saboo lifted an eyebrow at the sweating, writhing man threateningly. 

“Oh come on!” wailed Howard. “Vince gets dessert and I have to get needles? How is that fair?”

“Would you prefer a natural birth, peasant?” asked Saboo. Howard bit his lip in pain, and to keep his sharp retort at bay. “That’s what I thought. Man up. You’re having a baby,” Saboo ordered. 

Naboo administered the shot. A  _ thunk _ sounded from the corner of the room as Dennis unceremoniously fainted. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, this is an outrage!” cried Tony Harrison, pointing his tentacles at Dennis. “He’s out cold, once again!” 

“He never  _ could  _ handle the Crunch,” added Saboo. 

“HANG THE CRUNCH,” shouted Howard as another particularly painful contraction wracked his body. Vince stood with urgency, then wavered a bit like a tree in a breeze and sat down again, his eyes unfocused. 

“What is  _ happening?” _ Vince cried. “Oh Howard, my Howard--” He hung his head in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably. 

Naboo sighed. Leave it to Vince to get all hysterical  _ now _ . He gestured at Saboo, who obediently filled another syringe with serum and passed it over.

Approaching Vince slowly, Naboo aimed the syringe at the crying man. Vince noticed, and immediately flailed an arm out. 

“No, no jabs!” he shrieked, wailing with tears. 

“I didn’t want to have to do it this way,” Naboo said, “but Bollo, hold him down.”

Bollo looked aghast. “Bollo no can hurt Vince!”

“Acropathy!” shouted Tony Harrison, obviously excited by the whole thing. 

“I’m doing this for his own good!” Naboo yelled, quickly losing his patience with the whole horrible situation. “I can’t deliver a baby  _ and _ deal with a man-child in the midst of a tantrum. Bollo,  _ now!” _

With a hangdog expression, Bollo obeyed, wrapping his long, hairy arms around the flailing Vince until he finally ran out of steam and went still. Naboo took the opportunity to jab him with the needle, pressing down on the plunger until Vince’s head lolled. 

Bollo arranged Vince safely on the floor, where he couldn’t fall and hurt himself in the midst of the delicate, dangerous procedure the Shaman were about to attempt.

“Can I fuck the little one while the big one gives birth?” asked Kirk, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Kirk! You can’t just rape a man while his husband--wife--whatever--gives birth,” Naboo objected,

“Just a little bit?” Kirk pleaded.

Naboo grimaced. “Saboo,” he ordered, and Saboo once again filled a syringe with serum, and handed it to Kirk. “You know what to do,” Naboo said sternly. 

“Damn,” replied Kirk, who expertly aimed the needle at a vein and shot up. He left the room, presumably to get up to some unhinged, immoral, and irreparable behavior of the worst kind. 

“Dyspepsia,” intoned Tony Harrison melodically, waving a tentacle in the air. 

Saboo lost it. “You absolute fucking waste of space!” he spat. “Saying medical terms like they’re magical spells does  _ nothing.  _ You know it, I know it, even the pregnant man knows it.” He glared at the immobilized, naked man on the bed to emphasize his point as well as his exasperation.

“Shit off, I have a scouts badge in Healing Arts. I’m highly qualified!” keened Tony Harrison. 

“Qualified to lick balls,” retorted Saboo. 

“Paleocortex, you slag!” shouted Tony Harrison. Naboo jabbed him, too, having crept up from behind. “Aw, Naboo, no fair!” whined Tony Harrison. “Damn you to the seventh moon of Eudipsia.” Then he fell to the floor, silent and still, a tangled mass of tentacles.

Naboo rubbed his hands together. “Well, that takes care of  _ that _ ,” he muttered, surveying the bodies splayed about the small, crowded room. He turned back to his medical bag, rummaging through its contents until he found what he was looking for: a small amber glass bottle. He uncapped it, taking a deep draught of the marijuana tincture inside, before wiping his lips and passing the bottle to Saboo, who did the same, then handed the bottle to Bollo, who gulped down the remaining liquid. “Now,” Naboo said importantly, “we’re finally stoned enough to get to work.”

Two hours later, Vince grew groggily aware of a distinct yet distant sound. It was a sound he’d heard before but not for a very long time… it was distant and tinny, like it was coming through an old radio. What was it? He also felt a pull, deep down within his heavy insides, that this was an important sound. He should get up because of it. It was like an alarm clock going off for school. Only it wasn’t. 

_ A baby,  _ his lone brain cell provided.  _ That’s a baby crying. You should see to it.  _

With herculean effort, Vince prised open a heavy eyelid. He saw the floor of his bedroom, up close and personal and a little fuzzy. The crying grew louder, sharp as an icepick to his aching head, and he winced against it.  _ So shrill.  _ Vince blinked, and opened his eyes again. Bollo’s feet. Naboo’s pointy-toed shoes.  _ Why’s Naboo in my room? Why won’t that baby stop crying? _

_ THE BABY!  _

All at once, realization crashed into Vince.  _ That’s my baby, Howard’s baby--our baby!  _ He sat up so quickly his vision tunneled. “Where’s she?” he slurred, but it came out as a panicked half-yell. A hand rested on his shoulder, too big and too hairy to be Naboo’s. 

“Vince,” said Bollo’s voice, low and calming and familiar. “Baby here. She fine. Howard fine. Go slow--”

Always impatient and not one to listen to advice, Vince stood up before Bollo could finish. He swayed a bit, but his eyes were gradually growing more focused, his mind slowly growing clearer. Saboo and Naboo were hovering over Howard’s prone form, fussing over something. 

“Let me see,” Vince said, voice urgent. He wheedled his way in between the two Shaman. Lying on the bed, wrapped in a soft, clean white blanket, was the smallest little person Vince had ever seen. She was crying, but the Shaman did not look alarmed. An instinct Vince didn’t know he had roared to life. That baby,  _ his baby,  _ was crying and needed to be held. He scooped her up in his arms and began to rock her, tears streaming freely from his wide blue eyes. 

“Hey, little girl,” he said, voice choking. “It’s me. You know my voice? Howard--Daddy--you’ll meet him soon--he says you could hear us talking to you even when you were still inside him. Anyway.” He cleared his throat, staring down into Cassie’s still-squalling face. “Papa’s here, I’ve got you, sweet girl.” He showered her round head in kisses, and turned to Naboo. “Is she all right? Is Howard all right?”

Naboo looked peaked and exhausted and very much in need of a drink. Or drugs. Preferably both. “She’s fine,” he said, tiredly pinching the bridge of his nose and squinting his bloodshot eyes at the immobile Howard-sized lump in the sheets. “Howard’s fine, too. He’s sleeping off the stuff we gave him. Should be coming around soon.” 

“Was it difficult?” Vince asked, kissing Cassie’s warm head again. Her cries subsided--she  _ did  _ recognize Vince’s voice. 

“He’s the only human man ever to get impregnated by aliens and bear their spawn,” replied Saboo wearily, though no matter how weary he might be, his voice still dripped with his distinctive sarcasm. “Of course it was difficult.” 

“There’s no blood,” said Vince absently. He’d been expecting something out of a horror film, but the room was quiet and clean and overall, calm. 

“Magic,” said Naboo, enigmatic as ever. 

“Look at her,” said Vince, cradling Cassie so Naboo could see. “Isn’t she pretty? Look at her skin!” Her skin had an iridescent purple tint to it, and tufts of dark emerald green hair sprouted from her tiny head. “She’s perfect,” he whispered, and kissed her again. 

“She’s good,” said Naboo. That was about the highest praise anyone could ask for from him. 

Still holding Cassie close, Vince sat on the bed beside Howard. Someone, perhaps Naboo, had bothered to wipe up his face and comb his hair. He looked peacefully asleep. Vince pressed a kiss to his forehead. He couldn’t speak; words wouldn’t form. For the first time in Vince Noir’s life, he was completely, absolutely speechless. 

Howard,  _ his  _ Howard _ ,  _ had done it--he’d given birth to their baby. Cassie was here! In his arms! Vince wanted to dance and shout and cry all at once. He settled for kissing Howard again, and sat, cradling a now-sleeping Cassie close to him. She was warm and smelled sweet and new, and Vince knew that he would do  _ anything  _ to keep her safe and well. 

Saboo approached. “I hate to break up this vomitous domestic scene,” he said, “but we do need to fill out the birth certificate. For legal purposes.” 

“Oh,” said Vince, feeling unsure. “Shouldn’t we wait for Howard?”

“He could be out for another couple of hours,” explained Saboo, his voice low and lacking its usual spite. “We need to get this to the Almighty Judge Judy as soon as possible so we can present it to the Uranians. Once they know the baby has survived to term,” Saboo sneered, “they’ll need to start disbursement of child support.” 

Vince’s jaw dropped in shock as his stomach roiled. “You mean... the million Euro... and the 75,000 every year....” While he was placated by the knowledge that there was nothing the Uranians could do to back out of their legal obligations to the baby conceived by their gene-splicing experiments, Vince felt a niggling sense of fury. There had been a possibility Cassie wouldn’t make it? He was angry, but too emotional to act on it. Mostly he was relieved that his legal counsel, terrible as they were, had kept that detail from him and Howard. 

Saboo rolled his eyes. “Yes, the million pounds, and yes, the 75,000 Euro per annum. The sooner you fill out the birth certificate, the sooner you get your money, and most importantly, the sooner I can wash my hands of all this and have free time again.” He held out an official-looking document and an old-fashioned fountain pen, which Vince grasped with his free hand, still confused and overwhelmed.

Vince stared at the piece of paper, but he was unable to focus on it long enough to make sense out of it. Ostensibly, he was supposed to fill it out, but his head was swimming with the events of the last several hours and the utter  _ joy _ he felt at finally holding his daughter in his arms.

Unfortunately, Tony Harrison chose exactly that moment to come around. Unlike Vince, who was still foggy with the aftereffects of whatever potion Naboo had dosed him with, Tony Harrison blinked to life immediately. “Does it have a name yet?” he asked, his blue eyes disconcertingly bright against his pink skin as he gazed hopefully up at Vince, who was cradling his daughter in one arm and clutching the birth certificate in the other.

Vince ignored the creepy pink Shaman. He wanted to wait for Howard, but he also knew they needed the money as soon as possible. Nappies didn’t grow on trees. “Okay,” said Vince slowly, his mind still trying to process so much new information. “What do you need from me?”

“What name do you give this child?” Saboo asked, pen poised above the birth certificate. 

“Cassiopeia,” he replied. 

“That’s it?”

“Well…” Vince chewed his lip thinking. “She can have middle names, right?”

“Yes,” said Saboo, rolling his eyes. Vince grinned. 

“Cassiopeia Harrison,” said a nasally voice from the floor. Vince almost gagged. 

“Shut up, Tony Harrison,” spat Saboo. “You were completely useless when it came to the Crunch.” 

“Aww, that’s not my fault, you puffed-up penis-muncher,” retorted Tony Harrison. “He jabbed me! You could’ve used my vast medical knowledge. I sense the regret in your voice and I accept your apologies.” Instead of looking contrite, Saboo looked like he’d swallowed something foul. 

Vince interrupted what was sure to be a riveting argument. “There is no  _ way _ I am naming my child after you.”

“Well, at least put me down as the father!” Tony Harrison protested, waggling his non-existent eyebrows pleadingly.

“ _ I’m _ the father!” Vince barked. For one alarming moment, Cassie stirred in his arms. The whole room went quiet, lest they awaken her from her slumber and had to have this argument over the squalls of a crying baby.

The moment passed, and Cassie yawned and settled, soundly asleep. Tony Harrison, however, did not let the interruption deter him. He puffed himself up impressively for a creature that was no more than a pink head propped up by equally-pink tentacles. “Well, according to Sex Law--”

“I’ve been sexing him for months, you berk!” Vince interrupted in a stage whisper. Cassie, mercifully, slept on.

“Filibuster!”

“You don’t even know what that means,” taunted Vince. 

“Neither do you!” retorted Tony Harrison. 

“Of all the useless twats I’ve encountered in my time, you two are the most insufferable,” spat Saboo. 

“Ad valorem, you gluteus maximus,” said Tony Harrison, raising his tentacles as if he was going to engage Saboo in a boxing match. “Come get me, you frog’s rectum!” 

While Tony Harrison was sufficiently distracted, Naboo pulled his psychedelic purple doctor’s valise from the depths of his robes, stealthily filling a syringe with serum. On quiet feet, he snuck up on Tony Harrison, jabbing him in one of the pink, testicular globes of his skull. Tony Harrison’s mouth opened to shout, “It’s an--” but collapsed into quiet oblivion before he could complete his signature catchphrase. The entirety of the Shaman Council, and Vince, heaved a collective sigh of relief.

With Tony Harrison finally subdued, Vince could now proceed with naming of his daughter, thankfully without interruption. “I know what to put on there,” he said, jutting his chin at the birth certificate. 

Saboo raised a skeptical eyebrow but handed the form over without a word. Well, he only muttered invective under his breath the entire time that Vince painstakingly labored over the document, anxious to get it exactly right, but it was easy enough to ignore.

Finally, Vince handed Saboo the birth certificate, beaming proudly. “Pretty genius of Cassie to get born, yeah? Now she’s got a genius name, too!” 

Saboo glanced down at the document and grimaced. “If you say so,” he said primly, then excused himself to officially serve the Uranians their papers.

Vince, too elated to finally hold his daughter in his arms to be irritated by Saboo’s sarcastic reaction to his choice of name, simply sat and stared at the sleeping alien baby in his arms, grinning like a loon.

It took another few hours for Howard to wake up--Naboo certainly hadn’t been lying when he’d said that Howard would get the very good drugs for the delivery. 

The first thing he saw when he woke up was Bollo’s hairy back. In contrast to the claustrophobic, buzzing crowd that Howard remembered from the moments between the arrival of the Shaman and the onset of the drugs, the room appeared to be empty except for the ape who had been tasked (rather unwillingly it seemed, if Bollo’s glaring expression was anything to go by) with looking after an unconscious Howard’s well-being.

“Bollo?” Howard asked, his voice escaping in a creak.

Bollo huffed dramatically. “Harold awake now? Bollo no have to monitor him for symptoms of death?”

Howard had an instant and unpleasant flashback to Monkey Hell. Frantically, he pressed his fingers to his wrist to take his pulse. Reassured by the constant, steady thrum of his heartbeat, that he was neither dead nor in Monkey Hell, Howard’s next thought was  _ where’s my baby? _

“Where’s my baby?” he asked aloud, suddenly anxious. Where was everyone? Why had they left him alone? 

“Cassie sleeping in nursery,” Bollo grumbled, which did nothing to assuage Howard’s paranoia. 

He felt strangely bereft. None of the pregnancy books he’d read had prepared him for this, but Howard supposed it was inevitable, in a way--he’d shared his body with another being for forty, no, forty- _ one _ weeks. Now that Cassie had exited his body and entered the world, Howard was alone once more. Before he could stop himself, his eyes were welling with tears and he was sobbing uncontrollably.

Bollo looked uncomfortable. At a loss for how to deal with the situation, he pounded Howard on the back, but Howard only sobbed harder. “Vince! Naboo! Harold awake! Come quick!” he cried, less because of his concern for Howard, and more because he wanted to get out of here and get high. 

Moments later, a breathless Vince and an annoyed Naboo entered the room. 

“Howard!” Vince cried, launching himself at his daughter’s other father.

“Christy, Vince, at least give me a chance to check his vitals before you go about crushing one of his vital organs,” Naboo scolded. Vince, looking appropriately chagrined, got off the bed and hovered anxiously over Naboo’s shoulders as he attempted to cast a spell to scan Howard for abnormalities. Unfortunately, due to Vince’s excessive hovering, the spell failed. “If I have to tell you to back off again, I’m going to turn my back on you!” Naboo snapped. “Why don’t you go get Cassie? I’m sure Howard wants to meet his daughter....”

“Cassie!” Vince exclaimed, eyes popping as he remembered his daughter, asleep in the nursery.

“Please, Vince, I want to see my daughter,” Howard sobbed, so pathetic that even Naboo managed a twinge of pity for the man.

Vince raced down the hall at breakneck speed to fetch their daughter. Luckily, his absence afforded Naboo enough alone time to run a full diagnostic on Howard. Satisfied that Howard had made it through the delivery in good health, Naboo offered the man a quiet, yet sincere,  _ Congratulations, _ though Howard was too distracted to acknowledge it.

It wasn’t until Vince appeared with the tiny baby swaddled in a mound of blankets that Howard awakened from his near-comatose state. Immediately, his face broke into an achingly huge smile. He held his arms out expectantly, and Vince gently laid Cassie down into them.

Howard cradled her against his chest, staring down at the baby in his arms intently. Cassie was somehow impossibly small yet bigger than he’d imagined. It seemed even more impossible that he’d carried something her size inside of him for forty weeks, almost a whole  _ year _ . It seemed even more impossible when he considered how much his life had changed since he’d gotten pregnant. 

A year ago, the most significant thing that had ever happened to Howard Moon was a kiss on a rooftop under false pretenses. A year ago, he was still trying to work his way back into a semblance of normal life after his jaunt to Denmark and his failed attempt to become an avant-garde actor. He and Vince traded barbs and eye rolls, not kisses and loving words. Parenthood had been no more than an abstract concept, not something he’d ever imagined taking part in. Howard had been untouched, unloved, mostly unwanted, and had had no clear direction in his life. 

He remembered how upset he’d been the morning after the abduction, how hurt and terrified and violated he’d felt, and the way he’d wanted Vince to believe him  _ so badly.  _ He remembered the period of depression he’d fallen into, the weeks when he’d thought that getting pregnant was the worst thing that had ever happened to him, the shitty cherry on top of the shitty cake that was his shitty life. Howard had been convinced that his life was ruined. He’d had no idea, then, that his life was just beginning, that what had been the scariest, strangest event of his life would turn out to be the pivot on which his entire life would turn. That after surviving another humiliating party, an alien abduction, public shame in front of the aliens, sexual violation… his life would only get better in ways he couldn’t have ever imagined. 

Howard’s life now seemed like a fairy tale in comparison. His childhood hopes and dreams, of being loved and loving in return, of having a home and a family he could be proud of, had come true. He might have gone about it in a rather backwards and outlandish way, but that was Howard Moon, sir. 

Now Howard had Vince at his side and in his bed and in his life in ways he’d stopped hoping for ages ago. He was cradling a soft, new, warm life in his arms--a life  _ he’d  _ helped create, and that Vince would help him raise. Even the flat was different--formerly a bohemian bachelor pad, it was now a proper home, complete with a whimsically-decorated nursery and even a pair of weird uncles living upstairs. The thought made Howard chuckle to himself around the lump in his throat as he pondered the unlikely twists and turns his life had taken. His heart, once guarded and locked away, was now open and outpouring love for his daughter and Vince and even the Shaman. 

Tears trickled down his cheeks as he held his daughter in his arms for the first time. Although Howard had seen the scans, nothing had prepared him for the absolute  _ wonder _ of seeing his baby, holding her,  _ smelling _ her--a curious mixture of innocence, baby powder, and the almost-metallic tinge of blood--she smelled  _ alive _ . 

He traced Cassie’s little nose and mouth with a fingertip, amazed at how tiny her features looked in comparison. Howard had long been curious to know exactly what Cassie would look like, considering that there were no other known half-human, half-Uranian hybrids on the planet, and he was relieved to see that she looked mostly human, aside from the purple, iridescent tint to her skin, the tufts of dark green hair sprouting from her tiny head, and the fact that when she opened her tiny eyes they were completely black. She stared right at Howard, eyes open as wide as they would go, blinking several times as if trying to make sense of the brown blob hovering above her.

Cassie’s fingers and toes were tiny yet long and spindly, another trait she’d inherited from her alien side, and Howard thrilled with possibility, thinking  _ She’d made an excellent musician with those fingers _ . He imagined turning her little nursery into a conservatory when she was old enough, lessons for piano, guitar, and saxophone, hours spent listening to the jazz greats alongside his daughter. In his daydream, Vince joined them, although he wore earplugs and noise-cancelling headphones to try and keep the jazz from touching him, and the tears came harder. 

“It’s okay,” Vince said softly from where he was sitting next to Howard, reaching out to gently wipe the tears from Howard’s cheek. “I cried, too, before, when I saw her for the first time.” 

Howard wished he could have been awake to see it, see Vince so overwhelmed by the wonder of meeting his daughter for the first time that he burst into happy tears, but he couldn’t regret it, not quite, not when Vince was looking at Howard and Cassie with so much wonder and joy. “She’s beautiful,” he mumbled, “absolutely beautiful...”

“The most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen,” Vince agreed, resting his chin on Howard’s shoulder to get a better look at his daughter. “Takes after her father, I think.”

“Which one?” Howard asked absently, still a little foggy from the aftereffects of Naboo’s drugs and the emotional overload.

“You, you curly-haired, tiny-eyed menace!” Vince teased. The two men laughed, and Cassie’s little mouth opened and closed, almost as if she was laughing along with them, Howard thought, although the baby books he’d read had been pretty much unanimous that babies didn’t really start smiling or laughing until the three month mark. Yet, considering the exceptional circumstances of Cassie’s conception, it was altogether possible that she could be exceptional in other ways...

Naboo watched the touching little scene from the doorway--Vince holding Howard, who was holding their daughter, all three staring at each other as if no one else on earth or anywhere else existed. They looked like the quintessential English family--that is, if the quintessential English family was made up of a Magnum PI lookalike, his gender-confused wife, and their alien baby. While Naboo generally disdained the dynamics (and dramatics) of human familial relations, he began to feel an unfamiliar sensation that started in his chest and prickled his eyes. Naboo paused for a moment and watched the couple coo over their daughter, taking turns pressing kisses to her forehead and her chubby baby cheeks, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar sensation. Could this be--was Naboo having an  _ emotion? _ He shook his head, but the curious feeling persisted.

Before he could identify the unusual warmth burning in his chest, Naboo’s contemplations were interrupted by a loud honking sound. Evidently Bollo had been overcome by watching his precious Vince become a father.

“Precious Vince all grown up,” Bollo sobbed, launching himself at Naboo. “Sweet baby boy have baby of his own...”

“Ugh, pull yourself together, Bollo!” Naboo muttereded, though he  _ may _ have hugged Bollo back, just a little bit, just enough to ground himself... “How many times do I have to remind you that even though he  _ acts _ like a child, Vince is a full-grown  _ man _ ?”

Bollo wailed in response.

That seemed to break the spell. Inspired by Bollo’s sobs, little Cassie started crying. Vince and Howard cast anxious glances around the room, their parenting instincts already in overdrive, as they attempted to identify the cause of Cassie’s tears.

Naboo sheepishly tried to extricate himself from Bollo’s hairy embrace, remembering the entire reason he’d needed to be here in the first place. Once he managed to escape, he approached the happy, brand new family holding out the birth certificate, only a little bit crumpled, slightly stained, and marred with something that suspiciously resembled a bite mark. “There you go,” he said, handing it to Howard. “It’s been officially notarized and faxed to the proper channels. Congratulations.” He offered the words with zero emotion, per usual. 

Howard blearily read the birth certificate as he rocked Cassie, trying to calm his crying daughter. “Vince,” he said slowly. “What the hell did you name our daughter?”

“What?” Vince sounded incredulous. “You were out cold and they said they needed the birth certificate quick-smart. I gave her good names, Howard, solid names that’ll serve her well throughout her life!” 

“Vince, my God, she’ll never be able to fill all this out on medical and financial forms.” Cassie wailed louder, as if in agreement with Howard’s panic regarding her inability to properly fill out forms. “I think it’s got every letter of the alphabet in there!” 

“No ‘d’,” said Vince snidely. He was hurt, Howard could tell. 

All Howard could do at the absurdity of the situation… was laugh. “Vince,” he said warmly, “I’m not mad at you. I’m… surprised. It’s quite a long name. But you’re right, they’re all good names. She’s named after the best people in my life. It’s perfect.” 

Vince grinned bashfully at Howard. “Mean it?”

“I do,” said Howard, his voice full of promise and love. Cassie quieted, the small argument between her parents over. 

_ Cassiopeia Vincenzia Naboolia Noir-Moon.  _

Naboo had to leave the room once he realized that his idiot flatmates had named their daughter after him. He couldn’t stand that prickling in his throat and eyes again, and turned to leave, having decided that he needed to get properly shit-faced after the ordeal he’d been through. 

“Oh,” he said, before he left. “By the way, Howard, if you’re going to breastfeed her, you’ll need to start as soon as possible. Make sure you get a good latch--” 

“I could get a good latch,” said Tony Harrison, who’d once again regained consciousness. “Luscious tits like that, mmm…”

Vince kicked him in the head with the toe of a silver boot. “Piss off, you cleft,” he cried. “Those are  _ my  _ luscious tits!” 

“I think you’ll  _ both  _ find they’re  _ mine,”  _ said Howard gruffly from the bed. 

Vince shot him a worried, wide-eyed look. “Yeah, but you’ll share, won’t you?”

Howard gave him a cheeky half-smile. “Might do,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. 

“Oh,” whined Tony Harrison, “so it’s okay for the ladyman to perv on Howard’s gorgeous tits, but not for the rest of us?”

“‘Course,” said Vince, sniffing haughtily, “I’m his wife.” 

“This is, my friends, an outrage!” 

“Come on,” said Naboo, picking up the outraged Tony Harrison. “Time to return to the penthouse.” The Shaman finally exited, leaving Howard, Vince, and Cassie on the bed, wrapped in each other’s love and warmth, looking ahead to a future which wouldn’t be perfect, but wouldn’t be all bad, either. After all, they had a bunch of intergalactic Shaman looking out for them. And things always seemed to work out for Vince and Howard in the end. 

  
  


Somewhere in the universe, far, far away, the two tallest Uranians gazed into their transmitter. After having received the notarized paternity papers from that terrifying barrister, Saboo, backed by the Almighty Judge Judy, they’d pointed it Earthwards to check on the state of things. The transmitter had picked up an image of a very familiar-looking moustachioed man, lying on a bed next to someone of indeterminate gender who resembled an uglier Joan Jett. The moustachioed one cradled a tiny, purple-skinned, black-eyed baby to his breast, whily ugly Joan Jett looked on with a starstruck expression on his face. Shuddering with a mixture of disbelief and disgust, the purple robed alien turned to the red-robed alien. "Is that Howard Moon? God, I hate that bastard." 

“Ugh,” the red-robed alien agreed, “me too.”

“It is difficult to believe,” added the purple-robed alien, “that the new High Princess Ebola hails from the same world as that scum-sucker.” 

“Even more unfortunate that now there is a spawn resulting from our experiments requiring child support payments for the next eighteen years.” 

“It is unfortunate,” replied the purple-robed alien. “In the words of the Great Traveller, you might even say ‘it’s an outrage’.” 

“An outrage,” agreed the red-clad alien. With that, the Uranians changed the channel, the screen blinking with the image of a smiling Gothic woman and her equally-gothic girlfriend beaming at the results of their positive pregnancy test. The aliens exchanged a satisfied glance and settled in to watch as the High Princess Ebola of Titania and High Princess Anthrax of Umbriel celebrated the much longed-for conception of a child of their own. A  _ true  _ heir of both Earth and Uranus, not a slight legal problem and major inconvenience like Howard bloody Moon’s bastard progeny. 

Lightyears away, the Earth’s Moon, which had no Princesses, high or otherwise, watched Howard Moon and his family. “That’s nice,” he said to no one. “It’s nice when sometimes, the earth people get things they didn’t expect… and it all works out anyway. Nice little family, like little birds in a, uh, a nest. Only they live in a flat. And sometimes the family is a man, a wife, and an alien. That’s nice, too.” He turned away to face the night sky, the stars twinkling bright in the vastness of space. 

On earth, in the flat, Vince and Howard beamed down at their own little star, hearts full of love, eyes on the future. Man, and wife, and alien, their little family was finally complete. 


	32. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief time jump 8 months ahead into the lives of man, wife, and alien.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with us through this weird epic about a pregnant man, his gender-confused wife, and their little alien baby. What began as a joke somehow spawned a 32-chapter, 100,000+ word epic fix-it fic. 
> 
> It’s strange because we wrote this in about 5-6 weeks and then took about 5-6 months to edit, beta, and post it (writing is hard y'all). To those of you who were there when this was a joke on Discord, thanks for sticking it out. To those of you who’ve waited until it was completed to start, that was probably a smart move. ;) We hope you’ve enjoyed reading this story as much as we loved writing it. 
> 
> Muchas gracias to the Boosh discord, with a special shoutout to AlchimistSophie who posted the screenshots that inspired this fic. It’s not an understatement to say this would never have been posted without the help of A_Little_Boosh_Maid, who has stuck with us to the very end in spite of her world literally being on fire (the Australian wildfires are still burning, so please consider donating to the NSW rural fire service [here](https://www.rfs.nsw.gov.au/volunteer/support-your-local-brigade)). We appreciated every comment and kudo, so thanks for reading and letting us know what you thought about our epic cracksterpiece! <3<3<3<3

Howard was kneeling to examine the marrow in his little back-alley garden. Satisfied that they were growing healthily and almost ready to be picked, he heaved himself upright with a groan and wiped the dirt from his hands on his cords as he surveyed the little garden.

Once nothing more than a pile of binbags and broken down ephemera, the alley had been transformed into a cozy little urban garden. The cracked pavement had been replaced by a stone patio, and plants overflowed from the numerous raised beds, a mixture of shrubs and flowers and herbs and vegetables. Howard felt a distinct sense of pride as he surveyed his plants, but that sense of pride seemed miniscule in comparison to the pride he felt when his gaze fell onto his daughter and Vince, playing quietly in a corner of the garden, both bundled up in comfy clothing and red-cheeked from the autumnal chill in the air. Harvest season was just beginning, Howard thought, pausing to pick a few plump red, late-season tomatoes off the vine as he watched his partner and his daughter laugh as they played some complicated game with stuffed animals and fallen leaves.

Howard smiled. The last eight months had been the most sleepless, emotionally draining, and exhausting eight months of his life, and yet easily the most fulfilling. He and Vince took turns waking in the night to feed and change and rock Cassie back to sleep. He and Vince took turns with everything, he mused. Each day was like turning a new chapter in an exciting novel, every single thing a brand new discovery as they experienced it with their daughter through her brand-new eyes for the first time. Each milestone was cause for celebration: every coo and smile and inch crawled across the floor of the flat. Every new sound, every new word, every new taste and flavor was brand new again. Having a child had turned Howard’s world from safe and sepia to bursting with technicolor. 

Vince thrived right alongside Cassie, embracing the structure and sleeplessness of their new schedule. He’d bought a camera and took an embarrassing amount of pictures of their family, Naboo, Bollo, and the other Shaman included. Money from the Uranians had started coming through in March, shortly after Cassie’s birth, and with it, the peace of mind that everything was going to be okay. Naboo had even graciously given his two flatmates a year of paternity leave, though he had promptly hired Lance Dior and Harold Boon to replace them. When Vince and Howard protested, Naboo had simply shrugged and explained that no one would be able to tell that they’d been gone, which would keep awkward questions at a minimum, and Vince and Howard grudgingly agreed that perhaps that would be for the best, as much as they despised their wannabe doppelgangers and said doppelganger’s appropriation of their lives. Word on the street was that Harold Boon was trying to get abducted by the Uranians and impregnated with an alien spawn of his own to win Lance Dior’s fickle heart, but so far had been unsuccessful. Vince and Howard were, at least as far as anyone knew, the only daddies to an alien baby in all of London, and they hoped to keep it that way.

Besides, no matter how hard Lance Dior and Harold Boon tried, they would never be able to steal  _ this _ \--the cozy flat, the flourishing backyard garden, the happy family formed from the long years of yearning that occupied them both.

Howard made his way over to Cassie and Vince slowly, taking the time to check up on his carrots, inspect the progress of his beetroots, and pausing to sniff an assortment of vibrantly-colored chrysanthemums as he crossed the small yard.

The pale autumn sunlight filtered through the leaves of the once-scrawny oak tree that had begun to fill out under Howard’s care, dappling Cassie and Vince like a work of art: Cassie’s slightly lilac-colored skin glimmered iridescently, Vince’s dark hair lucent like black marble in the filtered light…  _ My beautiful family _ , thought Howard, still stunned at the knowledge that they were  _ his.  _

Vince stroked Cassie’s chubby cheek every so often, pausing their play to trace a fingertip over the plump bow of her baby-soft lips, smiling softly as she blew a raspberry at him in response. So engrossed in the game he was playing with their daughter, Vince didn’t even notice Howard’s approach until Howard slipped a hand through Vince’s hair in what had become their favorite gesture of affection.

Vince jumped, his features softening from surprise to affection when he recognized Howard. “Hello, love,” he said, eyes wide and blue and full of love. “How’s the plants?”

Howard opened his hand, showing Vince the tomatoes he’d picked. “Growing along,” he said. “The pumpkins are almost ready to be picked. In another couple of weeks, we’ll be eating the first pumpkin soup of the season.”

“Genius,” Vince beamed, humming one of their old crimps under his breath.  _ Soup, soup, a tasty soup... _

Howard hummed along and crouched down to get a better look at what Vince and Cassie had been playing. Three stuffed animals, all handmade by Vince, appeared to be having a tea party with the plastic tea set Naboo had given Cassie a few weeks ago. “What do we have here?” He bussed a kiss to the top of Cassie’s head, which had begun to sprout green curls. His daughter babbled delightedly, waving around the lumpy stuffed llama Vince had sewn for her so many months ago. She was strangely attached to the ugly thing; it was beginning to wear with love, stained and somehow even lumpier than ever. 

“We’re having a tea party,” Vince explained. He looked at Cassie. “Shall we invite Daddy to the tea party?” 

Cassie smiled around her two little teeth and said, “Dada,” before enthusiastically banging the cobblestone with the teapot. “Dada” was Cassie’s favorite word. Occasionally, she’d say “papa” but it sounded more like “baba.” Her vocabulary was small, but growing quickly--she’d recently begun to call Naboo “Booboo” and Bollo “Lolo”. Whatever words she’d babble, both her fathers would beam with pride and fight back emotional tears with each new milestone their daughter reached. 

Vince obligingly handed Howard a teacup. It was a tacky pink plastic thing, personalized by Vince with a painted spaceship. Vince had decorated each of the piece of Cassie’s tea set with a different space-themed image; Cassie’s own had her namesake constellation on it. It was such a thoughtful, perfectly  _ Vince _ thing to do, and every time Howard looked at them, his heart overflowed with affection for his partner.

Swallowing happy tears, Howard held his teacup out to Cassie, who clumsily pretended to pour tea from the teapot, which Vince had painted with a detailed picture of the solar system. “Thank you, baby girl,” Howard said, pretending to sip from his cup. He still yearned for a hot, strong cup of Yorkshire tea, and though Cassie was beginning to eat more solid foods, she was not yet weaned, so the pretend tea would have to do. It was better, Howard mused, than many of the strange herbal blends Vince was still foisting on him. With any luck, it wouldn’t be much longer before Cassie was fully weaned, and on that day, Howard planned to drink cuppa after cuppa until his hands shook and his heart raced. 

But as he looked at his little family, here in the back garden, pretending to drink tea from space-themed teacups in the company of stuffed llamas, his heart raced for a different reason: love. He loved Vince and Cassie, his little family, so much he thought he heart might burst with it. After having spent so many years unloved and alone, he was still getting used to carrying so much love inside of him.

Vince snuggled into his side, pulling a happily-babbling Cassie into his lap, pecking a kiss to her curly head and Howard’s stubbled cheek. “I love you,” he murmured, “more than I ever thought possible.”

Howard put his arms around them, pulling them into a hearty hug. “I love you too, little man,” he whispered, “and you too, my little girl,” he said to Cassie.

She tilted her head up to face Howard, her little face breaking out into a wide, gummy smile, then blew a big, spittle-filled raspberry at him. “Dada,” she said, after a pause, “Baba.”

As he wiped the baby spittle from his face, Howard smiled. He knew what Cassie meant--she loved them too. 

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Hate it? Leave us kudos and comments to let us know!
> 
> Want to talk to us about UFOS, little green men, and alien abductions? Find blackmountainbones on Tumblr [@the-stoned-ranger](https://the-stoned-ranger.tumblr.com) and BobSkeleton [@bob-skeleton](https://bob-skeleton.tumblr.com). We're weird but friendly, we promise!


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